Hard Way Home
by starophie
Summary: Emma Swan is a wounded soul. They say that to heal your wounds, you have to make peace with your past, and focus on fixing the present. But what if there was a way back? AU from 2x03.
1. 1 - Turn Back Time

hey, y'all! thanks for checking out this story. i couldn't get this silly idea out of my head, and hopefully i'll be able to flesh it out enough to where you don't think it's _so_ silly. i am not a fan of the various romantic pairings for emma (even swan queen, which normally floats my boat), which is another reason why i feel very strongly that the emma/mm relationship needs to be explored. anyway, i really hope you enjoy. neither OUaT nor _Tangled_ belong to me, sadly. the title for the story and all of its chapters are from the brandi carlile song, hard way home. love and light to all.

* * *

Emma Swan felt like a storm was brewing inside her. She was angry, she was hurt, she was upset, she was embarrassed - this whirlpool of emotions churned in the pit of her stomach and kept her from sleep. She'd conned Mulan into letting her keep watch the entire night, but had failed to keep her from promising to relieve her at dawn. As pink tinged the horizon, and the air began to lose most of its chill, Emma added the last of her wood to the fire. She sat back on her haunches and reflected on the events that had led her to this place.

She was embarrassed. Yes, she had taken care of herself for twenty-eight years - in the human world. But admittedly, she'd never fought an ogre before. And she was embarrassed that, after all this time, she needed her _mommy_ to protect her. Secretly, she was glad that Mary Margaret, or Snow, or whatever her name was now, had shot that arrow when she had, because otherwise she probably wouldn't be here. But that didn't stop her from feeling like a disappointment for not being able to protect herself.

She was upset. She was upset that she had disappointed one of the only people who had ever believed in her. Mary Margaret had always had faith in her, and Snow White seemed to still think that Emma was the infant she'd sent through the wardrobe. Emma wasn't sure that this woman - this strange combination of her best friend and worst enemy - would ever be able to find a balance. And that upset her, too. It upset her that it seemed as though her roommate and confidante was never coming back.

She was hurt. Not physically, though the power and stench of the ogre's breath had certainly done a number on her nasal passages - but emotionally. She'd barely had time to process the fact that her parents were alive, and wanted her, and _loved_ her, when she'd once again been thrust into an unfamiliar and unforgiving world.

She still didn't know why her mother had followed her through the hat. Emma supposed it was because she thought that Emma couldn't protect herself - which was turning out to be fairly accurate. And that made Emma angrier than she could say.

She was pissed as hell, in fact. Angry at the circumstances that life had thrown at her. Angry at the constant kicks in the stomach. Angry at Snow White for stealing her friend away from her, and replacing her with a condescending, patronizing, selfish woman who didn't trust her. And, most of all, angry at herself. Angry for keeping the fortress up around her heart, and furious for thinking sour thoughts about her mother.

Truth be told, Snow White was the most selfless person Emma had ever known. She had saved not one, but two children that night. She had sacrificed herself and her one true love for two innocent lives. But, while the adult part of Emma's brain told her that Snow had done a good deed, the childlike part reminded her that her mother had left her in the care of an untrustworthy seven-year old. It wasn't like Pinocchio was known for his stability, Emma thought bitterly.

Casting a nervous glance at the dark-haired warrior beside her, Emma carefully stood and brushed the crumbled leaves off of her backside. She stuck her dagger in her boot, took a swig of water from one of the skin sacks hanging on a low branch, and bid a silent farewell to the campsite. She knew it was only a matter of time before Mulan awoke and found her gone. She had thought about leaving earlier, but had promised to keep watch, and she didn't break her promises.

Remembering her earlier folly, Emma kept her steps light and quiet. She walked towards the sun for a few hours, and then paused briefly to take a break. There was no way of knowing whether or not the three women were following her, if they knew which direction she'd gone, or if they were even looking, but Emma knew to always expect the worst, and so kept her rest short. Her plan was to finish their trek to the castle, which she'd heard her mother say was due east of their camp. She didn't know what to expect, but she did know that she couldn't just wait around for things to get better. She had to get to her son.

Mid-afternoon, trouble found Emma once again. She had been counting on clear skies, and had failed to prepare herself for bad weather. It became overcast quickly, and Emma lost track of the sun. She figured she could just continue on her right-ish trajectory, and banked on a natural sense of direction to lead her where she needed to go. But though her sense of direction told her she was lost, she didn't have the faintest idea of how to get un-lost. The worn ground beneath her feet informed her that she wasn't in uncharted territory, which was comforting, but the gray sky was quickly darkening, and she needed to find shelter fast. Then, in the distance, she saw the spire of a tower, perhaps attached to a castle, and her pace quickened.

She was almost there, when -

"Fuck!" She cursed softly, turning her face to the side so she didn't land face-first in the dirt. "Ow," she moaned, trying to roll over, but not being able to put any weight on her left foot. Lying still, she slowly tried to wiggle her toes. Feeling her big toe cross over the second, she breathed a small sigh of relief. "At least it's not broken," she mused.

Emma planted her hands on either side of her chest, and heaved upwards in a backwards push-up. She bent her right leg underneath her torso, and clutched at a low-hanging branch to pull herself upright. She hobbled down the path, finding a long stick to use as a cane on the side of it. And then she came to a clearing.

In the middle was a tower, stretching upwards about ten feet above Emma's head. She looked around for a door, and, finding none, searched the tower up and down for a point of entry. Her ankle throbbed, her mouth was dry, and her stomach growled discontentedly. Suddenly, a face appeared at a window near the top.

"Hey!" Emma yelled hoarsely. "Can you let me in?"

"Who are you?" The girl called nervously. "What do you want with me?"

Emma sighed with irritation. "I twisted my ankle, and I need some help," she answered in a grouchy tone. "Can I come in, or what?"

"Are you sure you mean me no harm?" She questioned again.

"Yes," Emma bit out.

"Alright," the girl shouted, with some hesitation. "Stand back!"

Emma stumbled back in shock when a golden rope tumbled down the side of the turret. It took her a moment to process that it was hair - and looking back to the window confirmed that it was still attached to its owner.

"Are you serious right now?" Emma muttered. Raising her voice, she said, "I can't climb!"

"I'll pull you," was the slightly muffled response. "Just grab on!"

Sucking in a breath, Emma did as she was told. She dropped her makeshift crutch on the ground, and wove both her hands through the girl's lustrous locks. Bracing her good leg against the wall, she yelled, "Ready!"

Emma felt the oddly exhilarating sensation of moving her outside before her insides, and the hair on her arms and the back of her neck stood on end as her stomach tried to catch up to the movement of her body. In a moment, it was over, and Emma tumbled through the window into a circular room lit with candles and a crackling fire.

"I'm Rapunzel," the girl introduced herself. "Let me help you," she offered, extending a hand to Emma to lead her to a small, cushioned settee. Emma took her hand and allowed herself to be hoisted up off the floor and propelled towards the hearth.

Rapunzel fetched a hassock from in front of the fire, and placed a few velvet pillows atop it for Emma's leg. Emma sighed in relief as her ankle ceased its throbbing from the elevation, and thanked Rapunzel gratefully.

"Would you like some food? Mother left some stew and bread," Rapunzel offered.

Emma opened her mouth, but her stomach spoke first.

"I'll take that as a yes," Rapunzel said with a soft giggle. She grabbed an earthenware bowl from a cupboard, and began to ladle the steaming concoction into it. "What's your name?" She asked, setting the full bowl and a hunk of dark bread in front of Emma.

"Emma," she replied, picking up the bowl with one hand and the spoon with the other. She began slowly, but ate faster and faster as her stomach grew re-accustomed to feeling full.

"Emma," Rapunzel mused, refilling Emma's bowl. "That name sounds familiar. Are you a princess?" She asked.

"Snow White's my mother," Emma muttered.

"You're - you're the savior," Rapunzel said breathlessly. "Mother told me about you! You're meant to save us all!"

Emma swallowed the fear and bile that rose in her throat. "That's what they tell me," she said gruffly, trying to convey in her tone that she didn't want to talk about this.

"Mother says the enchantment she has on this tower is what prevented us from being harmed by the curse," Rapunzel pressed on, oblivious to Emma's discomfort. "But she says that the land is even more dangerous now that it's inhabited by the ogres, and I'm starting to think that I'll never be able to see what the world is like," she said, with a doleful sigh.

"You've never been outside?" Emma asked, without filter. Of course, she knew the story of Rapunzel, but imagining a life trapped inside a single room made Emma's skin crawl. She, after all, had never been able to stop moving.

Rapunzel shook her head. "Mother says it isn't safe, that I'm 'too precious' to let anything happen to," Rapunzel moaned, using air quotes sarcastically. "But I don't think that everyone can be as bad as she says," Rapunzel asserted. "Look at you, for example! You broke an evil queen's curse, and seem like a very nice person to boot."

"I'm not as great as all that," Emma assured her, embarrassed.

"Don't be humble," Rapunzel chided gently. "If everyone was evil, you'd have hurt me by now. Instead, you've been kind. It's nice to have someone to talk to besides Mother and Pascal," she said, a hint of wistfulness in her voice.

"Pascal?" Emma asked.

"My chameleon," Rapunzel explained. "He's a little shy," she said, gesturing to the reddish lump on the arm of Rapunzel's chair.

'_What __is __it __with __these __people __and __animals__?'_ Emma wondered incredulously. Outwardly, she just nodded and smiled. Sopping up the remnants of her stew with her bread, Emma finished her meal and tried to rise.

"Whoa, there," Rapunzel commanded, motioning for Emma to sit back down. "I've got to heal your ankle before you can go anywhere."

"How are you gonna do that?" Emma asked skeptically.

"Don't freak out, okay?" Rapunzel implored, widening her green eyes irresistibly. Emma refrained from rolling hers, and nodded for the girl to continue. "My hair has magical powers."

Emma contained a snort. "Seriously?" She asked, as plainly as she could muster.

Rapunzel nodded gravely. "I'm just gonna wrap my hair around your ankle, and before you know it, you'll be all better."

Emma weighed her options. On the one hand, she could refuse, and hobble through the forest to find a place to sleep. On the other, she could accept, and maybe even cajole a warm spot to spend the night, and then hobble through the forest in the morning. "Alright," she agreed, figuring that she'd made it too far in this whole "believing" thing to turn back now.

Rapunzel smiled happily, and wound a thick lock of hair around Emma's ankle. She pulled the hair over for Emma to hold, and she held it at another point, and then wrapped the hair around the ankle again to form a sort of triangle. Then, she began to sing.

Emma was surprised by little, at this point, but even still, the sight of light seemingly emanating from Rapunzel's scalp and flowing through each strand of her hair was stunning. Rapunzel's light voice bounced softly over the notes of her song, and Emma found herself entranced by the words.

_Flower__, __gleam __and __glow__  
__Let __your __power __shine__  
__Make __the __clock __reverse__, __bring __back __what __once __was __mine__  
__Heal __what __has __been __hurt__  
__Change __the __fate__'__s __design__  
__Save __what __has __been __lost__  
__Bring __back __what __once __was __mine__, __what __once __was __mine_

Emma felt dizzy. Her ankle didn't hurt, but her whole body felt weightless, as if suspended in zero gravity. She felt Rapunzel's silken hair slip from her grasp, and a golden light swirled and enveloped her, as if it were a tornado of ethereal luminescence.

She faintly heard voices calling her name, like a sweet choir of ladybugs, or something else very small that would have a high-pitched, angelic voice. The voices grew softer, and blurred together, until there was nothing left but a gentle, melodic hum. Then the light dimmed, and everything turned black.


	2. 2 - Follow My Tracks

Emma sat bolt upright. She had had a wonderful nightmare. It was strange, really, that this nightmare had some good parts, too - like having a best friend, and feeling loved, and going on adventures. She couldn't, however, figure out why she'd been so _old_! She was only ten, after all.

Silently, she rolled out of bed, and crept to the window of her cramped bedroom. If she didn't have to share it, it would probably be a good size, but as it was, she was one of five girls who inhabited the space. Sneaking past Mitchie's bed, Emma pressed her cheek to the cool glass, and stared out at the November night. Her nose twitched, and she anxiously awaited the start of the storm.

She didn't know how, but Emma had a sixth sense about some things. She knew when it was going to storm, be it rain or snow; she knew what direction to go in to get where she wanted; and she always, always knew when people were lying. The lying was what she called her special superpower, and it almost always came in handy. But sometimes it backfired, like when Mr. Henderson, her second foster dad, came home late and lied about being at the office. He beat her good for telling Mrs. Henderson that he was really at a strip club with his buddies. But mostly, it helped Emma know who was trustworthy and who wasn't. There weren't a lot of trustworthy people that she knew.

It began to snow, and Emma's breath caught. The snow, to her, was the epitome of magic. Everything changed when it snowed. The ugly beige brick of her apartment building suddenly seemed cozy and inviting. The harsh cement of the "playground" at her school became an exciting new frontier for her to explore. Even the corner mini-mart, where Mrs. Jeffries bought her cigarettes and beer on Mondays, seemed a little less scary and a little more comforting.

But tonight, as she stared out at the white flakes that were beginning to coat the hole-ridden asphalt of her street, she felt like her whole body had been jolted by an electric shock. It was snowing. Snow...why did that word mean so much more to her today than it had yesterday?

Emma shook her head to clear it. "It was just a dream," she mumbled under her breath. Even so, her feet itched, and she felt the urge to get out of town, stat.

One of the girls - Lizzy, maybe - grunted in her sleep, and Emma's brain catapulted into action. Checking the time on the illuminated alarm clock on the nightstand, she discovered that she had about four hours until sunrise. She grabbed her backpack, hauling it up off the floor and tossing it onto her bed. Suddenly, she dropped onto her bed, quickly wrapping her blankets back around her. Her full backpack pressed uncomfortably against her stomach, and she laid stiffly for several minutes before working up the courage to resume movement.

"Chill out, Swan," she muttered harshly, annoyed at herself for being so paranoid. "We don't have time for this right now."

Emma ran to the dresser and opened her drawer. She only had a few outfits, and two of them she hated, so she tore off her purple and teal star-print pajamas, and put on a black and white raglan tee, a pair of black skinny jeans, some thick socks, and her ratty black hi-tops. She tossed her pajamas and backpack on her bed, and grabbed her black and lime green ski jacket from the bedpost.

Packing her bag with her pajamas, clean underwear, a notebook, her pencil case, her baby blanket, a flashlight, and the wad of cash she'd collected under her mattress for the past three or so years, Emma quietly made her way out of the room and out of the apartment. She didn't feel like waiting for the elevator, so she ran down the three flights of stairs and out into the cold Hartford night.

Emma tried to figure out where she wanted to go. She found a bench, fairly warm from the light of the streetlamp, and rifled through her backpack for a worn manila folder. She tugged it out from beneath her blanket, and held it close to her chest. She knew the contents nearly by heart, but she wanted to check the newspaper clipping again.

"Baby Emma found on side of Interstate 95," the little girl read aloud to herself. Her nose stung with unshed tears, and she furiously rubbed her eyes, as if to rid them of all emotion. She flipped the folder closed, and shoved it back into her bag.

As she stood back up and walked through the snow, she began to hum a strangely familiar tune.

"Make the clock reverse, bring back what once was mine. Heal what has been hurt, change the fate's design, save what has been lost, bring back what once was mine..."

'_Where __have __I __heard __that __before__?'_ Emma wondered silently. It wasn't from a movie, she didn't think, and there was little chance she'd come up with a tune from lyrics in a book. Shaking her head, she decided to go through all the movies she'd seen with songs, and try and figure it out from there.

By the time she'd finished analyzing the melody, Emma looked up to discover that she'd reached her desired bus stop. One of the best things about her internal compass was that she rarely, if ever, needed directions. She just knew where to go.

She shivered on the uncomfortably cold seat in the bus stop's covered nook, as she waited for the next bus to come. An older man slept a couple seats down, but Emma thought he might have been homeless, and was just trying to find shelter for the night.

Finally, after what felt like hours, the bus came, and Emma gratefully hopped aboard onto the warm vehicle. She made her way to the back, found a cozy seat, and curled up next to the window.

She napped off and on for about an hour and a half, constantly waking herself to make sure she hadn't missed Portland. When the bus began to get full, she knew they were almost there, and prepped herself to disembark. Twenty-five minutes later, she paid her fare, and got off to look around and see if she recognized anything. And, she did - a little place by the name of Chantey's Lobster Shack. She swallowed hard, and walked towards the seemingly-friendly windows framed in red gingham.

The brass bell on the door jingled merrily as Emma stepped inside, and the lone waitress looked surprised when she saw that it was just one little girl who'd come into the diner.

"Sit anywhere, honey, I'll be right with you," she said kindly, wiping down a table in the back of the restaurant.

Emma sat in a corner booth by the window. The turquoise vinyl was torn in places, and the formica tabletops were chipped, but she didn't mind. In fact, this was the safest she'd felt in a long while.

"My name's Maisie," the waitress introduced herself, coming over to the young girl. Emma glanced up, and examined her more closely. She had very familiar features, like her expressive green eyes, her smile, her lustrous golden hair-

"Huh?" Emma whispered softly.

Maisie gave her a confused expression. "What was that, sugar?"

Emma shook her head, blushing slightly. "Sorry, never mind. You just...look familiar, somehow."

Maisie gave her a wink. "Don't we all?" She asked with a grin. "Now, here's your menu. Can I get you something to drink? Maybe a little hot cocoa to warm you up?" She offered enticingly.

"With cinnamon, please," Emma accepted with a winning smile. She looked over the menu, and decided to go all out with her breakfast. When Maisie came back, she ordered, "Two chocolate chip pancakes, two sausages, two strips of bacon, two scrambled eggs, hashbrowns, rye toast, and a glass of orange juice, if you please."

Maisie raised her eyebrows to her hairline, but said nothing as she put the order in. She poured herself a cup of coffee and yelled to the cook that she was taking five.

"Mind if I join you?" She asked Emma, who had an amusing line of whipped cream under her nose. Emma shook her head wildly, and gestured to the empty booth on the other side of the table.

"So, if you don't mind my asking, what brings you here all alone?" Maisie asked her, pouring two pink packs of sugar and a thimble of cream into her mug.

"I'm trying to get to Storybrooke," Emma said. Then she looked surprised at herself. She didn't even know if this place was real or not. But, if it was, these people had probably heard of it. "Do you know how far away that is from here?"

"Storybrooke?" Maisie looked puzzled. "I've never heard of a town called Storybrooke. It's in Maine?"

Emma nodded. "Not too far from here," she said instinctively. "But I don't know if I should walk, or if there's a bus I can take."

"Hey, Eddie!" Maisie called over her shoulder. "You ever heard of a place called Storybrooke?"

The cook poked his head out of the galley. "Nope. It's in Maine?"

"Yep!" Maisie shouted back.

Emma frowned. Maybe it really _didn__'__t_ exist. She chided herself for, once again, believing in a fantasy. Wasn't that why all the other orphan girls had hated Annie? Because she believed she really had parents, and wouldn't let that dream die. When Emma had lived in Chicago, the girls had called her stupid for believing in fairytales. When she'd lived in Cleveland, they'd mocked her for being a baby who still thought Mommy and Daddy were coming to rescue her.

Maisie's voice startled Emma out of her thoughts. "What do you want with a place called Storybrooke?" She asked.

"My...parents are there. I got separated from them," Emma explained, her brain no longer connected to her mouth at all. "I've been in foster care all my life, and that's where they are. I've got to get to them," she said fiercely.

"Well, I'll tell you what. My shift ends in about three hours. Do you know which direction it's in from here?"

Emma thought hard. "Northeast," she said decidedly.

"I've got nothing better to do, now that my good-for-nothing boyfriend ran off," Maisie grumbled. "So I'll take you. We'll drive northeast, and if we find it, we find it. How does that sound?"

Emma leapt up from the table and threw her arms around Maisie's waist. "Thank you," she said earnestly. Emma hadn't met too many people like Maisie in her lifetime, and she was so grateful that she had.

Emma ate all her breakfast, but felt so bloated afterwards that the three hours seemed like nothing while she slept it off in her booth. Maisie shook her awake when it was time to go, and though more people had come into the diner, it certainly wasn't packed.

Maisie led her to a snow-capped blue sedan, and Emma jumped into the back seat. She buckled herself in, and Maisie pointed the car in the direction they wanted to go.

After about thirty minutes, Emma shouted, "Stop the car!"

"I don't see anything," Maisie said. "Just road. I don't wanna leave you here."

Emma could see the 'Welcome to Storybrooke' sign clear as day, but it was obvious that Maisie couldn't. Scared out her mind, but still in control of herself, she fabricated a story as quickly as she could. "I, um, recognize this spot!" She tried. "And this is it, I can feel it."

"Okay," Maisie said hesitantly. "But if you don't find it after fifteen minutes, you come back here and we'll keep looking. Deal?"

"Deal," Emma agreed. "I promise."

Maisie harumphed, but let Emma out of the car. Her plan was to wait a few minutes, and then tail Emma to see where she went, but after Emma had been walking for two minutes, she vanished into thin air. "What the hell?" Maisie drove further down the road, hoping to spot blonde curls between the trees, but she saw nothing. She drove and drove until she reached the ocean, and then had to turn around because she lived an hour in the opposite direction. Blinking several times, she inhaled the sharp salty air before she got back into her car. "Maybe it was just a dream," she told herself.

* * *

Emma couldn't believe how much the same everything was, exactly like her dream. Everybody looked the same, and everything felt the same. She passed a diner called Granny's, where she remembered having cocoa (with cinnamon, of course); Mr. Gold's, which gave her an awful case of the shivers; and the church, with the clocktower, before she saw a small yellow bus loitering in front of a throng of kids.

"Aren't you coming?" A young girl asked her, motioning for her to join the group.

Emma didn't know what else to do but follow. The girl's dark eyes sparkled as she held out her hand.

"My name's Paige," she said warmly. "Are you new? We never have visitors in Storybrooke!"

"I'm Emma," Emma said softly. "And yeah, I'm...new."

Emma followed Paige onto the bus, and they found a seat together in the back. "Why aren't you wearing your uniform?" Paige asked with concern, when Emma took off her coat to reveal her t-shirt.

"Oh," Emma said with a blush. "Um, I don't have one yet."

"Well, don't worry," Paige said kindly. "Ms. Blanchard will get you one."

Emma's eyes widened in shock. That name struck a combination of fear and anticipation into her heart. "Wow, that's really cool," she said dumbly, trying to play off her shock as surprise.

"Ms. Blanchard's the best," Paige gushed excitedly, the large ice blue pompom on the top of her hat jiggling as she moved. "We always do fun things like art projects and games, and she tells the best stories! Today, she said, we'd make pilgrims and turkeys for our Thanksgiving decorations. Isn't that cool?"

Emma was tongue-tied. She didn't know what to say except "Way cool." Her heart beat on overdrive, and her mouth was completely dry. Her nerves were going nuts, and she racked her brain for a reason why she would be so nervous and excited about this. Then her head grew heavy and her mind blanked and her eyes blurred and all she could see was a sweet face, with a chin just like hers, reaching hands out to cup her jaw and stretching leather-covered thumbs to brush away her tears. This woman, whoever she was, was her _mother_.

The ride was a blur. Paige blathered on about the school and the class and the food she liked for Thanksgiving, and Emma nodded her head and smiled politely, but really, she was overcome with anxiety. What if Ms. Blanchard got mad at her for not having on her uniform? What if she never found her mom in this place? What if-

"Good morning, class," a soft voice reached Emma's ears as she stepped off the bus. "How are you today?"

She greeted each student individually, asking things like, "Did you finish that worksheet, Addie?" or "How was your soccer game, Max?" When she got to Paige and Emma, she asked Paige if she'd brought in her stuffed rabbit for show-and-tell, and then turned to Emma.

"Hello," she said warmly, bending a little to meet Emma eye-to-eye. "What's your name?"

"E-Emma," she stuttered, cursing her thick tongue. Her heart pounded so hard that she thought it would fly right out of her chest. This was the woman! This was her mother, standing before her! And yet, Emma couldn't find it in herself to believe that it was really true. She tried to convince herself that it was just a coincidence.

"Well, Emma, I'm Ms. Blanchard, as I'm sure Paige has already told you, and I'll be your teacher! Now, let's go get the rest of the class settled, and then we'll find you something to wear. Okay?"

Emma nodded mutely, her mouth dry. When Mary Margaret held out her hands to the girls, Emma didn't hesitate like she normally would've. Paige immediately latched on to the hand of her teacher, and Emma did too. Mary Margaret smiled down at Emma, and Emma felt a rich warmth rising up through her body from the tips of her toes. She really liked that feeling, and hoped that her mom - Ms. Blanchard, she warned herself sternly - would always keep smiling at her that way. Behind them, on top of the clock tower, a chime rang nine times. Things were already starting to change in Storybrooke, and Emma wasn't going to stop them.

* * *

"Class, we have a new student with us today," Mary Margaret announced, once everyone but Emma had found their seats. "This is Emma-" She paused, not having a last name to use.

"Swan," Emma whispered.

"This is Emma Swan. Now, as I said, she's new, so I'm going to go get her a uniform from Mrs. Chen in the office. I'd like you to work on Section Four in your notebooks - quietly, please," she warned. She turned to Emma. "Mrs. Chen will get us all set up, alright?"

Emma nodded, content to wander around dreamily until reality found the time to punch her in the stomach.

"Where are you from, Emma?" Mary Margaret asked her, as they made their way to the main office.

"Um, I'm from h-Hartford," she muttered, tripping over her old town's name.

"Hartford? That's truly _hours_ away," Mary Margaret said, a bit surprised. "How did you and your parents get here? I'm sure Paige told you that we don't really get visitors in Storybrooke," she said with a small frown.

Emma blushed uncomfortably. "I don't have parents," she fibbed.

Mary Margaret stared at her, and Emma averted her gaze. "Don't tell me you're here all alone?" She said, her voice taking on a stern edge.

"Um, okay?" Mary Margaret glared. "I, kinda...ran away. From foster care," she murmured.

"Oh, Emma..." Mary Margaret said gently. Emma was used to pity, but Mary Margaret's lilting voice wasn't mean-spirited or grossly honeyed. It was just...sympathetic. It made Emma feel cared for.

"I'll be okay, though," she assured her new teacher. "I'm tough."

"Emma, sweetheart," Mary Margaret began. "This town may be friendly, but the streets are no place for a ten-year old girl."

"But-"

"No!" Mary Margaret said firmly. "You'll stay with me, and that's final."

Emma was not expecting that at all. "I don't have much money," she said.

"I wouldn't accept rent even if you did," the woman replied. "You'll stay with me until a better offer comes along. Do you understand?"

Emma sighed, knowing, somehow, that this was the first of many battles the teacher would win. "Yes, ma'am."

If Emma had looked up, she would've seen a small smirk of victory cross Mary Margaret's face. "Good girl," she praised, pulling Emma into her side.

They'd paused in front of the office door to talk, and now Mary Margaret pushed down on the handle, letting Emma pass through first. It looked like many primary school rooms - informational posters on the walls, utilitarian desks and chairs, and assorted clipboards which held a variety of colored pages.

"Mrs. Chen?" Mary Margaret asked, surveying the empty office. "Are you here?"

"In here, dear," a muffled voice called from the closet. "Be out in a jiff!"

Mary Margaret motioned for Emma to stay by her side as they waited. "Ah, there we go," the voice said again, and behind it, a _zaftig_ woman with finely coiffed white hair and a bright smile appeared, settling back into her desk chair to talk to the teacher and student. "How can I help you, Ms. Blanchard?"

"Emma here is new, and hasn't had time to get her uniforms. I thought perhaps she could borrow one for a few days, and then we could send in her order this afternoon so we can get them by the end of the week, if possible."

Emma looked nervous, and Mrs. Chen spoke to her directly. "It's not a problem at all, dear. We can get your measurements right now, and start your form so you and your parents can get it in as soon as you can. Right this way," she said as she stood, leading Mary Margaret and Emma through a back hallway and into what Emma assumed to be the clinic. There were a few colorfully padded cots, a small medicine chest, a sink, and a scale.

Emma hated the doctor's, and hoped Mrs. Chen wouldn't try to examine her. But all she was asked to do was remove her shoes to be measured vertically, and then stand still with her arms and legs apart so Mrs. Chen could get her arm span, chest, waist, hip, and inseam measurements.

"That's all I need from you, dear!" Mrs. Chen said brightly, allowing Emma to put her shoes back on. She dug around in a closet for a moment before grabbing a stack of clothing labeled "Size 8" and putting it on the counter.

"Thank you so much, Mrs. Chen," Mary Margaret said warmly.

"Yeah, thanks, Mrs. C," Emma concurred. Mrs. Chen smiled at Emma and patted her cheek.

"Be a good girl for Ms. Blanchard, Emma," she said.

"I will," Emma promised. _'__Well__, __I__'__ll __at __least _try_.'_

Mary Margaret grabbed the bundle of clothes Mrs. Chen had set aside for Emma, and led the girl to the staff bathroom in the hall. "You go change, and I'll wait here," she said kindly.

Emma nodded, and slipped into the large room, determined to be as quick as possible so that Ms. Blanchard didn't get upset with her. Shucking her Chucks and her tight jeans, Emma slipped the unbuttoned plaid skirt over her head, and sucked in a little as she slid the clasp closed and zipped the skirt up. She scoffed, quietly - green was _so_ not her color. She then stripped off her baseball tee and pulled on the white polo - which was surprisingly soft, for a school-issue garment - and the crested cardigan. Emma pushed up the sleeves, a little, because it was very hot in the building for her, and jammed her feet back into her hi-tops, tapping the rubber toes against the linoleum tiles to achieve the proper fit. She quickly wadded her clothes into a ball and headed out of the bathroom, flicking the light off behind her.

"Well, Miss Emma!" Mary Margaret marveled, clapping her hands together with a silly little grin on her face. "You look absolutely _darling_!"

Emma blushed. If anyone else had said that to her, she'd probably have decked them. On second thought, no one would have said that to her, and meant it like her new teacher did. "Thanks, Ms. Blanchard," she said shyly.

"A few things, though," she clucked. "One, where are your knee socks?"

Emma pouted. "I have to wear those? They're so dorky!"

Mary Margaret squelched a giggle. "Yes, Emma, you do. They're part of the uniform." She held out her hand as Emma kicked her shoes off again. "Here, lean on me," she offered, squatting so Emma could stretch a hand out to balance on her shoulder as she switched her socks. "And we'll have to get you some new shoes, because these simply will not do for school. Second," she began sternly, once Emma had gotten herself situated. "Who taught you how to treat clothes like this? Because I certainly would like to give them a piece of my mind!"

She took Emma's plainclothes and shook them out. "Do you know how to fold clothes, Emma?"

Emma slowly shook her head. "Sorry," she murmured.

Mary Margaret smiled warmly. "I'll teach you later," she promised, folding the shirt and pants with practiced ease, and tucking the wool socks into Emma's back pocket. "Third," she appraised, looking Emma up and down. "That skirt is bit short, missy," she said, giving Emma a wink to let the girl know she was joking.

Emma looked down. It was true, she guessed. All the other girls she'd seen had skirts down to the tops of their kneecaps, at least. Her skirt barely reached the middle of her thigh.

"But I suppose it can't be helped," Mary Margaret said, beginning to herd Emma down the hall. "You're tall and thin."

With that, she stopped talking. And as they walked back to the classroom, Emma felt slightly stifled by the silence. "Ms. Blanchard?" She asked in a timid whisper.

The teacher stopped walking, and turned to face her student. "Yes, Emma?"

"I'm not really a very good girl," she muttered, ashamedly turning her face to the floor.

Mary Margaret was taken aback. "What makes you say that?"

"Well, after a while, my foster parents get sick of me, and give me back to the state. I must not be very good if nobody wants me."

"Oh, Emma," Mary Margaret murmured softly, squatting down and pushing a lock of hair behind Emma's ear. "If I know anything for certain, it's that the fault was in those people, not you. I've only known you for an hour, and I already trust you with all my heart. Can you believe that?"

Emma nodded slowly. "Yes, Ms. Blanchard," she lied softly.

"You're lying," Mary Margaret said matter-of-factly. "But that's okay. We'll work on it."

The woman held out her hand, and Emma tilted her head up to examine her teacher's face. After studying it carefully for a few moments, she deliberately smacked her hand into Mary Margaret's and clasped it tightly. Holding back a bittersweet grin, Mary Margaret led her new charge back to their classroom to begin the day's lessons.

* * *

"Alright, everyone!" Emma was awed by the fact that this slight, sprightly woman could control a room full of ten-year olds with a single clap of her hands. "We're going to have a little pop quiz on Unit Four!"

All the kids groaned, but as Emma glanced around, they all had smiles on their faces. Maybe this is what school was like when you had a good teacher.

Mary Margaret walked around to each of the five quadrants of desks, handing out a small stack of papers at each one. Emma sat at a desk that was diagonally across from Paige, next to a boy named Davy, and across from his brother, Tom. At least, Emma thought they were brothers - they looked exactly alike! When Mary Margaret came to their quad, she whispered in Emma's ear, "This won't count for a grade, for you. Just do your best."

Emma nodded, affirming that she understood, and then picked a sheet up off the pile. Looking it over, she noted that it was double-sided. Shrugging slightly, she grabbed a pencil out of the cup on the table and began.

Emma's tongue poked slightly out of her mouth as she worked. She added, subtracted, multiplied, and divided fractions; she turned fractions into mixed numbers and back again; she even did the extra credit, which had fractions and decimals. She glanced up, noticed that the rest of her quad was still working busily. A few times, she started to get up, and then sat back down. She didn't want the other kids to think that she was some kind of teacher's pet, or nerd, because she wasn't. Knowing things didn't make you a nerd, right?

A girl at another quad got up, and Emma breathed a sigh of relief. She got up, too, and waited a respectable distance from Mary Margaret's desk so that the teacher wouldn't think she was trying to cheat or anything. Then, the other girl sat down - and took her paper with her! Emma panicked. Should she sit down again? Would that look to suspicious? Should she have waited to get up at all? Were all of her answers wrong?

"Emma?" Mary Margaret basically shouted, drawing Emma's attention to her. "Emma, sweetie, are you okay?"

Emma tried to calm herself down. "Um, I, I'm-" she sputtered, unable to decide what she wanted to say.

"Are you done? You did all you could?" Mary Margaret filled in, taking in the graphite-marked paper in Emma's hand.

"Yeah, yeah." Emma whispered.

"Can I see?" The teacher asked, when Emma made no move to hand it over.

Jerking her head in the affirmative, Emma allowed Mary Margaret to gently tug the test out of her hands. Trembling slightly, Emma made her way back to her seat.

"When you're done," Mary Margaret addressed the class, startling Emma terribly, "you may read or draw quietly."

Emma looked around the classroom. In the very back corner of the room, she spotted a cozy nook with a few pillows and two very well-stocked bookshelves. She got up slowly, having noted the last time that the old wood-and-metal chairs were a bit squeaky, and made her way across the classroom to the library.

Emma bent down, examining the selection with discerning eyes. There was a fair representation of the classics - A Little Princess, Huck Finn, Little Women, Oliver Twist - and some Roald Dahl, which was very nice to see. Emma made a note to come back to that section. There were encyclopedias and other reference texts, some biographies and other works of nonfiction, and a sweet but worn collection of picture books, from which, Emma assumed, Mary Margaret picked stories to tell her class. And then, at the very end of the very last row of books, a stamped leather binding caught Emma's eye.

"Once Upon a Time," she murmured to herself. "That sounds interesting."


	3. 3 - Seeds I've Sown

alright. i felt like i needed to make like lucy ricardo and do some 'splaining, because apparently there were a bunch of folks confused by this story. so here we go.

this is one continuous story, not a variety of one-shots. in the first chapter, emma sprains her ankle and finds rapunzel, who tries to heal it. but i was watching _tangled_ one night, and the lyrics of her healing song really spoke to me re: emma. emma, i feel, has a much more serious injury inside of her; her heart is completely broken, from years of bouncing around the country to nearly two-dozen foster homes and, i think, constantly wishing for her parents to come find her with no results. and so rapunzel unintentionally turns back the clock and changes the course of emma's life by sending her back to hartford, when she was ten years old.

emma thinks that her old life is a dream because she doesn't trust that this dream won't break her heart like all the others have. at the same time, she can't rationalize dreaming about her mother, and her being the exact same woman she meets in storybrooke - which is why she's having this battle with herself.

in regards to the ooc comments: mm might seem ooc, because she is. this is an au story; i mention that aspect in the summary. but she's also very in character for the show, because she's always interacted with emma in a very "mother bear" kind of way. of course, this version of the mm/emma relationship will not have nearly as much talk of sex and drinking, but the more tame instances of their show interaction are, i think, very similar to what i've portrayed. also, this emma cries a lot right now. but she's also ten years old, and a ten-year old who's had very little sleep and a lot of emotional upheaval at that. so, to quote gayle, what would you have done?

i do love to hear your thoughts, and i am very appreciative that y'all have stuck with me. thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for all of your sweet feedback, follows, and favorites - you rock! xoxo :)

* * *

Emma hefted the book into her arms, a bit breathless from the weight and from excitement. The books at her old schools were all boring and ratty, having been used for many years by quite the variety of students. All these books looked practically brand new, as if no one had so much as glanced at them in over a decade. Dragging her pointer finger along the shiny bookbindings, Emma made her way back along the bookshelves and around the desks to her seat. She plopped down at her desk, and began to crack open the tome in front of her, but Mary Margaret suddenly appeared at her elbow.

"Emma," she said, voice faint. "May I see you in the hall, please?"

Emma's knees wobbled and her heart thumped as she followed her teacher out of the class, looking much like a prisoner would when being led to the gallows.

"Emma, honey, breathe," Mary Margaret instructed, letting out a nervous giggle.

Emma did as told, then asked, "What did I do?"

Mary Margaret was the one to take a breath, now. "Get a perfect score on the pop quiz, without even studying." She stared at Emma in wonderment, as if seeing her for the first time.

Emma cringed, waiting for the accusation. Whether from jaded teachers, jealous kids, or jackass foster parents, there was always a suspicion of cheating or other foul play on Emma's part where her grades were concerned. Emma had always been uncomfortable with - some would even say ashamed of - her intelligence. She didn't know how it happened. She was observant; she loved to read; she had a very good memory. Once she heard or saw something, she absorbed it - she knew how to do things because she watched them be done. No one had ever taken the time to teach her to ride a bike, or climb a tree, or fix a car, but she'd paid close attention to people doing those tasks, and had memorized the way and order in which they'd been done.

But that didn't mean that people believed her. And so she waited for her new teacher to turn a wary eye on her and ask who she'd copied the answers from. But when Mary Margaret kept staring, Emma decided to go on the defensive. "I didn't do it," she said finally. "I didn't cheat."

"How could you have?" Mary Margaret asked, a bit shocked by Emma's sharp tone.

Emma screwed up her face. "I-huh?" She asked, now thoroughly confused.

"How could you have?" Mary Margaret asked again, this time smiling gently at the scared little girl before her. "You are the first person to finish in the whole class! You'd have had to sneak a peek at my answer key to cheat on this," she said with a small giggle.

"And...you don't think I did that?" Emma asked, just to clarify.

"Oh, honey, of course not!" Mary Margaret let out a hearty laugh. "It's at my house, so that's a preposterous notion."

Emma's lower lip wobbled a bit, so she chomped down on it. But her chin still quivered slightly as tears filled her eyes.

"Emma?" Mary Margaret asked, voice sweet and thick with concern. "What's the matter?"

The girl could no longer contain herself, and she flung her arms around Mary Margaret's middle. "You're the best teacher I've ever had," she said, her voice muffled.

Mary Margaret ran a tender hand over the back of Emma's head, the tips of her fingers tingling at the contact with Emma's silky golden curls. When Emma pulled away, tears and a shy blush coating her cheeks, Mary Margaret once again squatted to be on Emma's level, and looked straight into her eyes.

"I think you're a wonderful girl, Emma Swan. I'm sorry that no one's ever told you that before, but I hope that, in time, you can learn to believe it. Why don't you run to the bathroom and splash a little water on your face? I think it'll make you feel better."

Emma nodded, rubbing under her eyes with the sleeve of her sweater. "Thank you," she whispered throatily.

Mary Margaret nodded. "Take your time," she said, to Emma's back. "I trust you."

Emma walked slowly to the place where a green sign reading "RESTROOM" protruded from the wall. She slipped into the alcove and pulled open the door with a dress on it. Standing before the mirror, she glared at her reflection.

Her eyes were wet, but the blue looked much bluer, and her eyelashes were thick and full with tears. Her cheeks and lips were pink, and her nose and chin were diminished slightly, as if drooping in sadness. Emma laughed to think that this might be what she looked like with makeup on. She ran the faucet, turning the blue tap all the way inwards, and cupped some water in her hands to dip her face into. She dipped a couple of times, careful to turn her head from side to side. Cupping her hands a third time, she slurped up some water to quench her thirst, and then turned the water off. She grabbed a few paper towels, to dry her face, and blew her nose before throwing the whole bunch away.

When she got back to class, about half of the students were still taking their tests, so she went back to her seat to pore over the book of fairytales. She closed her eyes, and flipped to a random page.

_Snow __White __laid __in __her __glass __coffin__, __hands __folded __primly __before __her__, __and __a __peaceful __smile __on __her __pale __face__. __Her __dark __curls __framed __her __head __and __shoulders__, __and __a __feathery __white __dress __covered __the __rest __of __her__. __Seven __dwarves __stood __at __attention__, __guarding __her __eternal __sleep__._

_Suddenly__, __Prince __Charming __rode __up__, __his __horse __nearly __foaming __from __the __frantic __pace __set __by __his __master__. __The __head __dwarf__, __Doc__, __spoke __to __His __Highness__. "__You__'__re __too __late__," __he __said__, __a __sorrowful __expression __on __his __solemn __face__._

"_No__," __Charming __said__. "__No__! __Open __it__," __he __commanded__, __gesturing __to __his __love__'__s __resting __place__._

"_I__'__m __sorry__," __a __dwarf __by __the __name __of __Grumpy __spoke __next__, __stepping __forward __from __his __spot__. "__She__'__s __gone__."_

_The __prince __deflated__. "__At __least __let __me __say __goodbye__," __he __pleaded __softly__._

_Sharing __looks __all __around__, __the __dwarves __together __lifted __the __lid __of __the __coffin __and __set __it __gently __on __the __forest __floor__. __The __prince __stepped __forward__, __kneeling __beside __his __lovely __princess__. __Without __a __word__, __he __pressed __his __lips __gently __to __her __cold __mouth__, __as __a __solitary __tear __made __its __way __down __his __cheek__._

_Suddenly__, __the __eight __men __around __the __coffin __were __thrown __back __by __an __unseen __force__ - __a __ripple __of __magic __surged __forth __from __the __coffin __and __spread __throughout __the __forest__. __Snow __opened __her __eyes__, __and __gasped __for __air__. __Her __eyes __met __Charming__'__s__, __and __she __smiled __in __disbelief__._

"_You__...__you __found __me__," __she __murmured __in __amazement__._

_With __tears __still __in __his __eyes __and __a __silly __grin __on __his __face__, __Charming __replied__, "__Did __you __ever __doubt __I __would__?"_

"_Truthfully__, __the __glass __coffin __gave __me __pause__," __Snow __teased __her __prince __playfully__._

"_Well__, __you __never __have __to __worry__. __I __will __always __find __you__." __The __prince __was __serious__._

"_Do __you __promise__?" __Snow __asked __cautiously__, __hoping __her __love __would __never __leave __her __side __again__, __by __choice __or __force__._

"_I __do__," __he __said__, __clasping __her __hands __in __his__._

_Leaning __in__to __her __Prince __Charming__, __Snow __White __gave __him __a __kiss__, __conveying __in __it __all __of __the __love __she __held __for __him __inside__._

Emma traced a finger over the illustration of Charming and Snow in the storybook. Glancing at her teacher, she couldn't help but notice that Snow White looked an awful lot like Mary Margaret, if Mary Margaret wore white dresses and had long hair.

"That's everyone done," Mary Margaret announced, pulling Emma from her fantasy. "Books away, class, it's time for arts and crafts!"

* * *

Emma had nearly forgotten about her book when lunchtime rolled around. After the quiz, the whole class had made construction paper turkeys and popsicle stick pilgrims to decorate the walls of the classroom with a festive, autumnal touch. Then, they'd talked about real pilgrims, and the Native Americans who'd helped them first get settled here in America. After History was English, which bored Emma to tears because it was simple vocabulary and spelling she'd known for years. She'd been doodling mindlessly on her worksheet when Mary Margaret had clapped her hands to assemble the children for lunch. She leapt from her chair and joined her new classmates, eager to stretch her legs for a bit.

The lunchroom wasn't as scary as some of the ones Emma had been in. In fact, it reminded her a lot of a large dining room. There were large sideboards on each of the three walls of the room, each with a sign denoting which grades were to line up beside it to get their food. Chafing dishes covered the expansive surfaces, and kindly older ladies waited patiently behind the tables to serve the children. At the front of the room was a stage, where Emma assumed speakers stood when there were assemblies.

Throughout the room, there were round tables to seat about eight. Upholstered chairs were settled around them, and Emma couldn't wait to find out if they were as comfortable as they looked.

She watched as Mary Margaret's students filed automatically to the table marked "3-4." Hungrily, she noted that lunch was a delicious-looking chicken and cheese casserole, with roasted vegetables, buttery rolls, and individual pudding parfaits for dessert. But her money was in her backpack in the classroom, and she knew she wouldn't be allowed to leave the cafeteria. So, sadly, she walked away from her class and found an empty seat at a table in the corner.

The chairs were, in fact, quite comfy - rather antithetical to the chairs in Emma's classroom - but she was just happy to have a little cushion under her behind. She twiddled her thumbs and watched the other kids in the dining hall. It was interesting, to her rather advanced mind, to watch how the other kids seemed to pair off. There were some built-in pairs, of course, with the siblings - the boys in Emma's desk group, for example, were brothers; there was also a set of twins named Ava and Nicholas who did everything together. Some kids seemed to have known each other forever, like two girls named Josie and Tatum, who were the absolute best of friends; and Max and Leona, who were almost inseparable. Some children traveled in packs - Tom and Davy ran with a group of boys who all seemed only to listen to Ms. Blanchard and their leader, a boy named Ferris. The rest of the time, they talked over each other and scrambled around making a mess of things. Another group, all girls, seemed to be the brainiest of the class, and talked to each other quietly about intelligent things.

Then there were the drifters. Emma noticed, almost happily, that there were some children who didn't really belong anywhere - kind of like her. There was Paige, who was friendly with everyone, but best friends with no one. There was a boy named August, who seemed nice enough to Emma, but gave her a weird feeling. And then there was a boy named Henry. Emma didn't know what to think of him. He looked familiar, somehow, like she had seen him before - but she knew that was impossible. Studying his face, Emma realized that she recognized the expression he wore. The corners of his lips were turned down, his brow was constantly furrowed, and his eyes were dark and sad. Emma had seen that expression every time she'd bothered to look in a mirror. It was a look of loneliness, and hopelessness, and feeling like you didn't belong.

Emma was so busy trying to figure out the boy that she was startled when he began walking towards her.

"Hi," he said, voice bright with cheer. "Do you mind if I sit with you? This is where I normally eat."

Emma flushed. "Oh, sorry! I didn't know I took your spot."

"No, it's okay!" He assured her. "I rarely have company."

Emma nodded solemnly, understanding what he meant.

"I'm Henry, by the way," he said through a mouthful of casserole.

"I know," Emma said quickly, then backpedaled when he turned a questioning eye on her. "I mean, I heard Ms. Blanchard call on you in class today, and I remembered it."

Henry smiled. "Cool! Most people only know my name because my mom is the mayor." After saying that, he scowled.

"Your mom is mayor?" Emma asked incredulously. "That must be awesome!"

"Not really," Henry said darkly. "She's never home, and when she is, she's yelling at me or making me do chores. She never lets me have any fun."

"Well, at least you _have_ a mom," Emma said, under her breath.

Henry either didn't hear her, or pretended not to. "So, why'd you come to Storybrooke? We never get visitors."

"So I've heard," Emma muttered. "Just, you know, thought I'd try something new," she said awkwardly.

"Did your parents get a job here or something?" Henry asked innocently, pushing his carrots around on his plate with a sour expression.

Emma frowned. "I don't have parents," she bit out.

Henry stared at her, then, eyes wide as saucers. "You're an orphan?"

Emma saw red, and threw her hand out automatically. Tears formed in her eyes as she saw Henry reel from the slap, and cradle his cheek in his hand. Blood rushed though Emma's ears, causing an awful unending whirring noise, and she was too distracted to notice that the entire room had gone silent. She ran out the door of the cafeteria and down the hall to leave the school.

Emma's legs pumped furiously as she sprinted, anxious to get as far away as possible before she collapsed. She passed through the main thoroughfare, a navy and blonde blur, and ran down the shoreline until she came upon a rickety wooden play structure. She shinnied up the side of the castle, and curled herself into a ball on the platform to cry herself to sleep.

* * *

Mary Margaret had been summoned to the cafeteria to deal with the aftermath of her newest student's blow-up. She had been sitting at her desk, eating her tuna-fish sandwich, when Paige had run in and demanded that she follow her back to the dining room. Mary Margaret was met with an injured and upset Henry, sporting an angry red handprint on his otherwise pale cheek.

"Henry!" The teacher gasped. "What happened to you?"

"I was talking to the new girl," he began, "and then she slapped me!"

"Did you say anything to her?" Mary Margaret asked, a bit stunned at the child's accusation.

"Well," Henry hedged, digging his toe embarrassedly into the linoleum. "I asked her if she was an orphan..."

"Oh, _Henry_," Mary Margaret sighed.

"But only because I wanted her to know that I was one, too, and that it was oka-"

"Henry," Mary Margaret interrupted sternly. "I know you meant well, and that was no excuse for her to hit you, but you had to have known that would be a sensitive subject for her. You can't always just say exactly what you're thinking!"

Henry hung his head. "I'm sorry, Ms. Blanchard," he apologized meekly.

"I appreciate that, Henry, but I'm not the one you need to apologize to. Where's Emma?"

Paige butt in. "She ran out, Ms. Blanchard."

Mary Margaret felt her heart rate intensify. "Paige, please take Henry to Mrs. Chen and get some ice on that cheek. Ask her to call in one of the substitutes for the afternoon - I need to go find Emma."

Paige nodded, and led her friend off to the clinic. Mary Margaret put on her coat, shouldered her bag, and strode out of the school with a purpose.

* * *

She drove slowly through town, making sure to check out every hiding spot there could be. She went to Granny's, the park, and even Mr. Gold's to make sure that her student was not there. Mary Margaret was getting desperate, and was about to check in the forest, when she was struck by an idea. Henry's mother had told her that he often went to a wooden play area at the edge of town when he wanted to get away from her. She said he called it his castle, and Mary Margaret thought that perhaps if Emma had been running, she might've stopped when she got to the shore.

Mary Margaret pulled her car off to the side of the gravel path, and bundled her coat tighter around her as she got out to search the playground. No one was on the swings, the slide, or the see-saw, but as she got closer to the peaked pavilion, Mary Margaret noticed a huddled figure clad in blue.

"Emma!" She called, a bit surprised at the note of relief in her voice.

The girl shot up, looking around for the source of sound. When her eyes met her teacher's, she looked shocked, then happy, then guilty, then scared. She backed herself into the far corner of the castle, hunching over as if to shield herself from Mary Margaret.

"Emma?" Mary Margaret called again, this time, with a concerned lilt to the name.

"Go 'way!" Emma yelled, her voice muffled by her bony knees.

Mary Margaret made her way to the edge of the platform, her chin barely level with it. She stretched an arm out to place a calming hand on Emma's leg, but when skin met skin, Emma jumped up like a spooked pony. She scrambled to the other side again, bent her torso backwards over the flimsy railing, and hoisted herself out from underneath the roof to scale it from the outside.

Mary Margaret was, at first, scared speechless. But she soon found her voice, and commanded the little girl who was currently climbing up the shingled and pitched roof to come down immediately. Emma turned to look at her teacher, a teasing glint in her eyes, and was a bit startled by the stern expression marring the normally placid face.

"Emma Swan!" Mary Margaret yelled, hands on hips. "I mean it, you come down this instant!"

Emma giggled, positive that the timid teacher would never climb up after her, and staked her claim on the castle like explorers did in movies. She planted her back foot, picked up her front foot to balance on the tip of the roof, and grasped the pole that held the flag in her left hand, raising her right fist to the sky. What Emma didn't know was that the flag was really a windsock, and the pole holding it was just a hollow and flexible tube. The wind changed course, and the tube flapped with it, sliding out of Emma's grasp in a flash. The girl fumbled and lost her balance, the rubber soles of her shoes doing little to prevent her from slipping off the roof and flipping in mid-air to land hard on the mulched ground.

"Emma!" Mary Margaret cried in distress. "Emma, honey," she cooed, dashing over to the hurt and frightened girl. Emma wasn't crying, but her face was white, and she let out a tiny moan of pain.

"Oh, sweetheart, where does it hurt?" Mary Margaret asked softly. "Let me see."

Emma grasped Mary Margaret's outstretched hand gratefully, and turned around stiffly in embarrassment. The teacher delicately lifted Emma's skirt, gasping a little at the angry pink scrapes covering Emma's thighs and behind. She could also see a few splinters, which she knew she'd have to remove once they got home.

"Emma, can you walk?" Mary Margaret asked, when Emma pivoted face-front again.

Emma nodded, and let Mary Margaret take the lead as she waddled uncomfortably to her teacher's car.

"Why don't you lay on your tummy," Mary Margaret suggested kindly. "That way, you won't have to aggravate your bottom any more than you have to."

Emma nodded silently, a bit confused as to why the woman was being so nice to her. Just minutes before, she'd been furious at her. Emma wondered if her teacher was just being nice because she'd gotten hurt - or worse, because soon, she wouldn't have to deal with Emma at all. Emma climbed slowly into the backseat, face-first, and pondered the places she'd seen where she might be able to get away with staying for a few days, before she could maybe find her father, and/or leave town.

When they got to Mary Margaret's apartment, Emma crawled gingerly out of the car, and followed the teacher silently up the three flights of stairs to her apartment. She stood stock still while Mary Margaret unlocked the door, and only followed her inside when beckoned.

"Wait right here, sweetie; I'm going to get some things to clean your scrapes." Emma nodded at the woman's instructions, and bounced slowly from foot to foot while Mary Margaret gathered the necessary supplies. The flat was nice - clean and white, with an industrial feel from the exposed brick and ceiling beams. A farmhouse table with mismatched chairs flanked one wall, while a kitchen area with a bar-height counter was positioned opposite it. There was a metal staircase, up which Mary Margaret had disappeared; a sitting area; and a curtained-off section that Emma could see an iron bed frame in.

Emma traced her finger along the rustic wood of the tabletop. It looked rough, but was surprisingly smooth to the touch, and Emma lost herself pulling her pointer in slow ovals around each knot in the old pine.

"Okay!" Mary Margaret said brightly, jolting Emma from her mindlessness. "I've got everything we need. Could you bend over for me, Emma?"

Shyly, Emma did as told, bracing her elbows on the table and bending at the waist. Once again, she felt her skirt flipped up over her back, and the cool air of the apartment rushed over her rear as Mary Margaret tugged her panties up a little so she could see all of the sore spots.

"You have a few splinters, Emma, so this might hurt a little. I'll try to be as gentle as I can," Mary Margaret swore. Emma felt cold metal, a pinch, and a slow release as the wooden barbs were tugged, one by one, from the backs of her legs. Mary Margaret talked her through each step, and Emma tried her best not to flinch or cry out when the alcohol and anti-bacterial cream stung her tender injuries.

Then, finally, Emma felt thick cotton fall back down over her bum. She stood up straight, and faced her teacher. "Thank you, Ms. Blanchard," she said, staring fixedly at her shoes. "I feel much better now."

"I'm very glad to hear that, Emma," the teacher answered, still speaking in that calming and soft tone. Then, all of a sudden, it changed. "I'm very disappointed in your actions today. First, hurting another student, then running off, and then endangering yourself? These are very serious issues, Emma; you have no idea how worried I was when I couldn't find you, or how scared I was when you climbed that tower. I don't know how you've been taken care of in the past, but that kind of behavior will not stand in this house, do you understand? We treat each other with respect, we talk about it when we have problems, and we certainly do not pull silly stunts like the ones you did today. Am I making myself clear?"

Emma felt like she could melt into the floor. She unintentionally had blocked out every word Mary Margaret said that would imply her staying for the long haul; instead, she internalized all of Mary Margaret's anger and frustration and felt it directed at her. "I'm so sorry," she sniffled. "I didn't mean to disappoint you. I'll apologize to Henry, I promise I will! And then I'll go. I'm sorry you had to put up with me today," Emma sobbed, feeling horribly ashamed of herself that she'd pushed her own mother away - or, at least, the woman who could be her mother.

Mary Margaret felt tears come to her own eyes. "Emma, sweetheart, I'm not letting you go _anywhere_," she said fiercely. "You're staying with me for a good long while. I'm glad you're willing to apologize to Henry, and you will, tomorrow. But for now, I think we need to get some food into you, and then maybe you should take a nap.

Emma was about to protest, but she could neither stifle the yawn that overtook her, nor the growl that erupted from the deepest depths of her stomach. Mary Margaret laughed slightly, and set about fixing Emma a sandwich - PB&J, extra J, with no crust and a side of crinkle-cut carrots. When Emma had finished, Mary Margaret led her over to the couch and had her lay across it, facedown. She covered Emma with the afghan off the back, and rubbed her back in soft, slow circles.

"My blanket," Emma mumbled sleepily. "I need my blanket!"

"Where's your blanket, Emma?"

"In my backpack, with my other stuff," she muttered.

"When you wake up, we'll go back to the school and get it all, okay?"

"Can't...sleep...without it," Emma slurred. "Nightmares."

"Shh, it's okay," Mary Margaret soothed gently, feeling bad that she hadn't grabbed their stuff first. "I'm here, you're safe."

When she got no response, the teacher glanced down to see that Emma was already fast asleep.

"Sleep tight, little Emma," she whispered, pressing a kiss into the girl's blonde curls.


	4. 4 - Follow The Rules

i don't condone corporal punishment in rl, but i also think it totally jives with the ftl way of life. **tw** for talk of child abuse in this chapter. as always, thanks for reading!

* * *

When Emma and Mary Margaret pulled up to the school the next morning, Emma began to feel a bit sick.

"It'll be alright, Emma," Mary Margaret vowed. "Henry will forgive you."

They locked eyes in the rearview mirror, before Emma turned away with a frown. Mary Margaret sighed, and unbuckled her seatbelt.

"Ready?" She asked brightly.

Emma nodded, and hopped out of the car behind her teacher. Each step that brought her closer to the school doors filled her with dread, and it took everything that she had not to run away again. She wasn't so used to people being understanding, and she was subconsciously waiting for the other shoe to drop.

When Emma had awoken from her nap the previous afternoon, Mary Margaret took her back to the school to pick up her things, and then they'd gone to Granny's to have dinner and "talk."

"Emma," Mary Margaret had begun, fiddling with the peridot ring on her middle finger. "Now that you're living with me, I think we need to establish some ground rules."

She'd paused, trying to gauge Emma's reaction, but Emma had busied herself with sucking the whipped cream off her cocoa with her straw. Shaking her head, Mary Margaret continued.

"School will be different than home, as I hope you can understand. At home, you can call me Mary Margaret, but at school, you'll still have to call me Ms. Blanchard. Does that make sense?"

"Uh-huh," Emma said through a mouthful of foam.

"Good! Um, you'll, of course, have your own room upstairs. And I won't require you to keep everything spic and span all the time, but just general tidying up after yourself is expected. Do your homework, and get a decent amount of sleep, but unless I feel you need me to, I won't set a bedtime or anything like that. Does that sound fair?"

Emma had never really had someone ask her opinion on things, so she just nodded and smiled. The smile Mary Margaret returned made her heart sing.

"Lastly, and I hope it never gets to this point, but if you ever put yourself in danger again like you did today or, heaven forbid, even worse - don't think I won't hesitate to punish you more harshly. Today was different, because we're still getting used to each other, and you injured your backside, but so help me..." Mary Margaret took a breath to calm herself. "Have you been spanked before, Emma?"

Emma gulped. The sweet, warm liquid suddenly tasted bitter in the back of her throat. If by "spanked," she meant beaten with a belt or slapped around until her nose bled and she passed out, then yes. She'd been slammed into walls, tossed down the stairs, held under cold water until her vision burst into metallic stars, but she wasn't quite sure which variation her teacher had in mind. "Yes," she answered meekly, not knowing what else to say.

Mary Margaret smiled grimly, then, as if aware of Emma's internal turmoil. "I truly hope we don't reach that point, Emma. But if we do, I promise - once punished, all is forgiven."

Emma felt a frustrated scream rise in her throat. _'__Maybe __for __you_,' she thought angrily. _'__Maybe __you__'__ll __buy __me __presents __and __give __me __candy __to __try __and __make __up __for __it__, __but __it__'__s __never __enough __to __take __away __the __scaredness__.'_ Emma felt like an idiot. She should've known that this time would be no different than any of the other times. All foster parents were exactly the same - they didn't care about the kid, just the check.

It didn't occur to Emma that Mary Margaret was not legally her foster mother, and as such, received no monetary supplement from the government. She was just feeling mad, and hurt, and betrayed. She picked at her chicken fingers when they came, suddenly not feeling very hungry at all. She could feel Mary Margaret's eyes watching her worriedly.

"What?" She snapped, jabbing a fry into the ketchup puddle she'd made.

Emma didn't have to look up to know that Mary Margaret's expression was hurt and confused. "Do you want something else to eat?" The teacher asked, choosing to ignore the girl's tone for now.

"No," Emma intoned, feeling her stomach churn as she contemplated eating the potato. "I don't feel good," she said, a slight whine in her voice.

Mary Margaret stretched her torso over the table, careful not to let her sweater land in her soup. "You do feel a little warm."

Emma flinched away from the touch. "I'm just not that hungry," she muttered.

"We can take it home with us, in case you change your mind later," Mary Margaret offered, quietly concerned about Emma's attitude.

"Okay," Emma agreed quietly. "Thanks."

"Of course, sweetheart."

The night had been quiet. Mary Margaret had offered to let Emma pick a movie for them to watch before bed, but Emma had no interest in The Aristocats, The Muppets Movie, Willy Wonka, or Charlotte's Web, so Mary Margaret just led her upstairs and let her get settled.

Emma's new room was less of a real room and more of a loft space, but Emma was entranced. The ceiling was sloped, and Mary Margaret had attached gauzy white curtains to it so that they created a tent-like fabric canopy. The bed - also made of iron, but this time a daybed - sat in place of a cushion in the window bay. The loopy white scrolls looked reminiscent of the tiaras Emma had seen on the princesses in the leather-bound storybook. In addition to the bed, there was a small desk (really, a thick plank sat atop two painted sawhorses), a comfortable-looking wingback chair, and a mirrored armoire for her meager belongings.

Emma reclined on the bed, memorizing the coral stitching of the birds on the coverlet with the pads of her fingers. The room was subdued in terms of color, but Emma felt a radiant energy in the space, as if it was signaling to her that this place was truly her home. She scoffed internally, and did her best to ignore that feeling. Otherwise occupied, she only half-listened as Mary Margaret rambled on about the bathroom being down the hall and the kitchen always being open and her room being right downstairs if she needed anything at all, no matter what time.

"I try to get to school by 8:00, so I usually wake up around 7:00. Okay?" The teacher asked. Emma's eyes snapped to hers.

"Okay," she replied. Tomorrow, she'd do some reconnaissance, and see where she could stay while looking for her father before she relocated to a new town.

Emma had slept only fitfully during the night, her dreams clouded with bits and pieces of someone else's life. She remembered black script on an ivory door, a gnarled tree with shiny red apples, darkness lit only by an ominous green glow, hazy purple smoke, and a shimmering golden tornado enveloping her in its light. Needless to say, she was a bit shaken, and her nerves only added to that tension.

She couldn't really remember ever apologizing to someone. Getting in fights at her old schools or group homes, she always got punished, but no one ever really said anything. And she'd never really cared what someone thought of her. But this kid...for some reason, he was different. He wasn't making fun of her, Emma had realized. He just wanted to be her friend.

Emma was allowed to play on the playground with the other kids before school began. She ran out back and perched herself on the trapeze next to the swings. There were some younger kids swinging beside her, and some were climbing the tower and climbing through the tunnels. The littlest ones played with the sand in the far corner. And Emma could see some big kids - her age and even older - dominating the monkey bars and the caterpillar tube, which wiggled up and down as you walked across it. A group of boys chased each other around on the field, but Emma noticed that they all stopped and parted when a black car pulled up along the fence.

A tall, threatening-looking woman stepped out of her car, carrying a turquoise lunch box in her gloved hand. A young boy got out from the back, and followed behind her across the field to the school.

As they got closer, Emma realized that the boy was Henry - which meant that the vaguely sinister woman accompanying him must be his mother, the Mayor.

The Mayor bent down, pushed Henry's bangs off his forehead, and placed a hand on his shoulder. She handed him the lunch box, and said something to him as she walked back to her car.

Once she drove away, the boys resumed their game, but Emma watched as Henry sat on a bench and tried to put his hair back the way it was.

Sighing, she backflipped off the trapeze and tromped over to where he sat.

"Hi," she said, putting a reasonable amount of distance between them, in case he was still upset.

"Hi!" He answered brightly, smiling, but then his face fell and he blushed uncomfortably. "I'm sorry about what I said, yesterday."

Emma was shocked. She may have rarely apologized, but certainly no one apologized to _her_! "I...m-me too," she stuttered.

"It was a reflex," he said considerately. "I probably would've done the same thing."

"Oh," Emma replied dumbly.

"I only asked you," he whispered, scooting closer to her, "because I'm adopted. Everyone else in this town was born here, I guess, but not me. Us outsiders gotta stick together."

Emma looked at Henry in surprise. "Really? Everyone else in this town?"

"Well, maybe not everyone," Henry said with a frown, scratching the corner of his eye. "But of the citizens I've asked - and there are a lot - they all said they had. Or, thought they had." His frown deepened.

"You mean, they don't know?" Emma asked, sure he was pulling her leg.

"My mom seems to be the only person in this town who's sure of anything," Henry said. "Everyone else forgets stuff pretty easily. Like, when I was six, Marco, August's dad, helped him make me a clock for my birthday. But I said something to him about still having it in my room when I saw him a few months ago, and he had no clue what I was talking about, at first."

"That's weird," Emma agreed. "But what kid wants a clock for their birthday?"

"I was confused about why the time never changes on the clocks here," Henry answered. "I thought maybe they were all broken. But Marco's clock was exactly the same. And then, yesterday, the clock on the clocktower changed! Like all of a sudden, a switch had flipped."

Emma frowned. "What do you think it means?"

Henry shook his head. "I have no idea."

Emma sighed, then thought back on something Henry had said. "Did...did you mean it?" She asked tentatively, not used to showing her vulnerabilities. Somehow, this town was breaking down all of her armor.

"Mean what?"

"What you said, about...us outsiders," Emma murmured awkwardly.

Henry grinned, and Emma inadvertently reciprocated. "I'd like to be friends, Emma," he said seriously. "That is, if you'd like to."

"Um..." She thought for a minute, and Henry's face fell. Laughing slightly, she finished, "Yeah, I think I'd like that a lot."

Just then, the bell rang, signaling for all the kids to go inside to their classrooms. Emma and Henry walked into Mary Margaret's classroom side by side, waving at each other when they went to their opposite ends of the room.

Mary Margaret felt a bemused smile creep onto her face. Just yesterday, two of her students were in tears over each other, and now they were being friendly? She couldn't make heads or tails of it, but knew that those two, in particular, needed someone to lean on - and maybe it was kismet that they'd found each other.

* * *

The morning whizzed by for Emma. She felt lighter than she had in a long time, and she was reveling in the new experience of having a real friend. Mary Margaret had decided to rearrange the tables today, and so Emma's new desk group was Paige, that boy August, and Henry. Henry sat next to her, and spent the time when they were bored by the low level of the coursework doodling notes to each other in the margins of their notebooks.

When lunchtime came, Emma made her way to the table where she'd sat yesterday. Henry frowned at her when he turned around to find out why she was no longer at his side. She shrugged in embarrassment, and he began walking over to her, but then he smiled and stayed in line. Emma furrowed her brow and tried to figure out what happened when she felt a presence behind her.

Turning, her heart sank a little to see her teacher gazing at her with a mixed measure of affection and disapproval.

"Why aren't you in line for lunch, Emma?" She asked softly.

"I'm not that hungry," Emma replied with a shrug.

Mary Margaret pursed her lips. "You have to eat. You didn't have dinner last night, and barely touched your breakfast. Are you sick, honey?" She made to feel Emma's forehead again, but the girl snapped her head back.

"I _said_, I'm not hungry!" She whined, feeling the pain of an empty stomach clench and claw at her insides.

"Don't take that tone with me, young lady!" Mary Margaret warned, putting a hand on her hip. "And I don't believe you. Tell me the truth."

Emma hedged, and Mary Margaret turned up the intensity of her stern glare. With a long-suffering sigh, Emma caved.

"I don't have any money," she whispered. Emma hoped that Mary Margaret wouldn't try to give her any, especially not when she was going to leave so soon, but that isn't what happened.

"Oh, sweetheart, I'm so sorry," Mary Margaret murmured, smiling awkwardly at her forgetfulness. "You don't need money to eat, here. Just grab a plate and get some food. The uniform is your meal ticket," the soft-spoken teacher explained.

"Oh," Emma replied. "Well..."

"Emma Swan!" Mary Margaret exclaimed, making Emma feel tiny. "You will eat lunch today! Am I correct in assuming that you didn't have any yesterday?"

Emma lowered her eyes.

"As I suspected. So today, you will eat lunch, and that is final! Do I make myself clear?"

Emma winced. "Yes, ma'am."

"Good. Now, scoot!"

Emma got up and shuffled to the bar where Henry was waiting.

"Traitor," she muttered darkly.

Henry laughed. "Just looking out for you, Emma."

Emma narrowed her eyes at him, but grabbed a plate for her food.

She tried to give Henry the silent treatment, but her bad mood went away with the ache in her stomach as she shoveled heaping spoonfuls of mashed potatoes and chunks of tender beef into her mouth. Henry traded her his carrots for her broccoli, and they each went back for seconds of the berry cobbler a la mode.

They'd just reached the outer doors to go to recess when the heavens opened and it started to pour. One of the teachers on duty herded them back to their classroom, and Emma's shoulders slumped as they shuffled back to their desks.

"Hey, Emma," Henry asked suddenly, after Mary Margaret had said that they could do puzzles, draw, read, or create. "What was that book you were reading yesterday? I've read all the books in this class, and I've never seen it before."

"I found it on the end of the last shelf," Emma answered. "You wanna read it with me?"

"Sure!"

The fourth graders made their way over to the corner, each grabbing a pillow to protect themselves from the cold floor. Emma crouched down and tugged the book off the shelf, awkwardly holding it and the pillow to her as she shuffled over to the place where Henry'd sat.

"It's a book of fairy tales," Emma said. "But not the Disney kind. They're...different."

She flipped through to the Snow White story she'd been reading the day before. "See? Snow White doesn't get married in the movie!"

"She looks kinda like Ms. Blanchard," Henry said thoughtfully.

"You think?" Emma asked, not wanting to admit she'd been thinking the same thing.

"Well, yeah! Let's go to the beginning, though. I don't like starting stories in the middle."

Emma nodded. "Alright."

She flipped back to the beginning. "Once upon a time, there was a princess born to the most powerful ruler in all the land, King Leopold, and his wife, Queen Beatrix. Even from birth, she was beautiful, just like her mother. She had hair darker than the blackest ebony; lips redder than the deepest ruby; and skin paler than the first snow. Because of this, and because she was born in the middle of a blizzard, the King and Queen decided to name their daughter Snow White."

"Keep reading, Emma!" Henry begged.

"Okay," she agreed. She kept on. "Unfortunately, the Queen was not well. She had fallen ill shortly after the baby was born, and had been steadily declining in health. By the Princess' first birthday, her mother was dead. King Leopold loved his wife very dearly, and was heartbroken when she passed. But he resolved to raise his daughter to honor her mother's memory, and to run the kingdom as if she was still by his side. The years passed, and Snow White grew more beautiful each day. She was a sweet, soft-spoken child, and a true diplomat in the making. But she also had a bit of a rebellious streak in her, and one day, she cajoled the stable hand into letting her ride her new pony by herself. Eight-year old Snow was not yet prepared to keep control of the wild colt, and as soon as she'd left the stable, he began to canter and buck to throw her off. Snow held on as best she could, but was losing her grip. She grew frightened, and began to yell for help."

"Suddenly, she heard the muffled crack of hooves galloping on grass, and realized that someone must be coming to her rescue. 'Help!' The princess cried again. 'Please help me!'"

Emma and Henry continued to read, entranced by the story about the young Snow White and the kind woman who saved her life, Regina.

"That's my mom's name," Henry mentioned when they reached that part.

The two ten-year olds read about the rocky relationship between Regina and her mother, Cora the witch; the sweet but illicit romance between Regina and Daniel, the stable boy; and the yearning of Snow White to have a loving mother of her own, which Emma related to almost painfully. Together, they gasped at the villainy displayed by Cora, and even more so at the threat of revenge against Snow White by the new Queen, Regina.

"The Evil Queen looks exactly like my mother," Henry said breathlessly. "And Ms. Blanchard looks exactly like Snow White. Do you think it's a coincidence?"

"Fairy tales aren't real," Emma said, but her voice lacked conviction.

"I know you see it too," Henry pressed. "Let's see if anyone else looks familiar!"

Henry grabbed the book and began flipping through to find different illustrations. "Look!" He whispered. "There's Marco, and August - they're Geppetto and Pinocchio! And there's Paige and her father," he said, pushing through another few stories. "And my mother again, and Sheriff Graham, and-" he stopped, trying to gauge Emma's expression. "If it was just one or two, I'd understand," he muttered, trying to make her see reason. "But look at all the people that look familiar, Emma! There's no way this is just happenstance."

"Alright, class!" Mary Margaret called. "Recess is over, so clean up and go back to your desks!"

Emma put their pillows back, and walked over to their table. "Henry?" She asked, noticing that her friend had disappeared. She turned around, and spotted him with their teacher. He was still holding the book, and gesturing to it animatedly. Emma hoped against hope that he wasn't trying to convince Ms. Blanchard that this all was real.

Emma watched their teacher nod, and Henry walked over to the quad with a triumphant smile on his face and the leather-bound tome clutched to his chest.

"I'm gonna do some research tonight," he whispered to Emma. "I'm gonna prove it to you; this is real."

Emma rolled her eyes, and over-focused on Mary Margaret when she began to instruct the class. She and Henry didn't talk the rest of the day, but she did return his wave when they went their separate ways after school.

Emma was pretty quiet all afternoon. She did her homework, and then read one of Mary Margaret's books until dinner. She made enough conversation with Mary Margaret to keep up appearances, but not enough to give away too much information. And then she mumbled something about going to take a bath and go to bed.

Emma hadn't yet unpacked her things, so she just set her backpack by the door of her room and went to take a shower.

Mary Margaret came upstairs to bid her goodnight, and to avoid suspicion, Emma had put on her pajamas and gotten into bed. She read more of the book until she was sure that the teacher had gone to bed. Then, she redressed, grabbed her bag, and silently made her way out of the apartment.

* * *

Mary Margaret may have been naive, but she was certainly no idiot. She'd known something was up with Emma from the moment they had gotten home the first night. She didn't want to push Emma, knowing that she was very sensitive, but when she heard the door close behind the girl at 10:30 on a Wednesday night, she got mad. Hadn't she just explained to Emma that she wasn't about to put up with this self-endangerment?

So, without much thought other than anger and disappointment, Mary Margaret shoved her feet into her boots and followed her charge out the door.

* * *

"Oof!" Emma exclaimed, stumbling backwards as someone barreled into her. "Watch where you're-" She began, then noticed who was in front of her. "Oh," she said, surprised. "Henry?"

"Emma, what are you doing out here?" He asked, voice just as puzzled.

"None of your beeswax," she spat. At his hurt expression, she backpedaled. "If you must know, I'm running away."

"From what?"

"Ms. Blanchard."

"Why?" Henry was flabbergasted. "Ms. Blanchard's the best! She's Snow White!"

"Cut it out, Henry!" Emma yelled. "That stuff is stupid!"

"Is not!" He screamed back. "It's real!"

"Hey!" A stern voice shouted above the bickering. "Both of you need to calm down. Henry, what are you doing out so late?" Mary Margaret questioned, her lips pursed and one eyebrow cocked in curiosity.

"Um...running away," Henry mumbled.

"Oh, _really_?" She asked, no amusement in her tone. "Did the two of you plan this?"

"Ms. Blanchard, I can expl-" Emma began, but a raised hand cut her off.

"I'll get to you in a second, missy," she sighed. "Henry?"

"No, ma'am," he said earnestly. "I just...needed to get away."

"Henry, I know that sometimes you find it hard to get along with your mother, but that's exactly what she is - your mother. You can't just up and leave every time something doesn't go your way!"

"But I-"

"Henry Mills!" A deep voice shouted. "What exactly do you think you're doing?"

"Nothing, Mom," Henry answered meekly.

"Ah, Ms. Blanchard," Regina purred silkily. "Why am I not surprised to see you here?"

"I came outside looking for my...Emma," Mary Margaret began, voice losing all bravado in the face of the Mayor. "And Henry was out here too. I was about to send him home, when-"

"Please, spare me the sob story. I know you too well to believe that you were going to do the right thing and return my son to me. I'm sure you were just going to coddle him and tell him not to worry, just like you always do." Regina looked down. "Who's this?" She sneered, looking right past Emma and to Mary Margaret for an answer.

"This is my new student, Emma. She's staying with me while...she's staying with me." Mary Margaret answered, tipping her chin up in an attempt to look braver than she felt.

"Emma?" Regina's voice was soft and ragged. "When did you get here?" She asked, in a sharper and stronger tone.

"Two days ago," Emma answered, voice not shaky in the least.

"And since then, you've been filling my son's head with reckless notions! He would never have spoken to me or acted the way he has without your influence," Regina accused.

"They barely know each other!" Mary Margaret asserted, trying to protect her students.

"It only takes a moment," Regina averred. "I suggest, Ms. Blanchard, that you keep a stronger hold on your..._child_," she hissed, turning up her nose as if at a bad smell. "Come along, Henry."

Regina dragged her son back to her sleek black Mercedes, practically pushing him into the backseat. Emma stood watching them, arms crossed over her chest, when Mary Margaret grabbed hold of her elbow and began tugging her towards their apartment.

Emma let out a squeak of disapproval.

"I don't want to hear it, Emma," Mary Margaret said sharply. "I warned you about what would happen if you disobeyed me, but you chose not to pay any mind."

Emma's mind whirled. Her breathing grew shallow, and her vision became blurred. She allowed Mary Margaret to haul her up the stairs to the loft, mostly because she never would've made it if left to her own devices.

She stood in the entryway as Mary Margaret prepared the dining room. "Come here, Emma," she said firmly. Emma began to walk over there, as fast as she could, when Mary Margaret barked out a, "Now!"

She tried to pick up the pace, but it wasn't fast enough, because Mary Margaret stood to grab her again, and landed two sharp swats to the seat of her leggings. Emma began to cower and cry. She squatted to the floor, writhing out of her teacher's grasp, and almost choked from heaving and sobbing so hard.

"Please don't hit me, I'm sorry, please," she pleaded, repeating the same things over and over. Snot flew from her nose, her face was coated in tears and mucus, and her small body shook from the force of her emotion.

"Emma, honey, you need to calm down," Mary Margaret soothed, pulling Emma into her lap as she sat on the floor beside her. "Breathe, baby, breathe. There you go, in and out," she coached, rubbing circles on Emma's back in an attempt to comfort the overwrought girl. She kept rubbing and patting and clucking nonsense at the girl until Emma's breathing had evened. Mary Margaret helped Emma to the couch, and ran to the kitchen to fetch a tall glass of ice water.

"Drink this, sweetie," she instructed, helping a still-shaking Emma lift the glass to her sticky face. Mary Margaret had also gotten a damp washcloth, and used it to clean and soothe Emma's flushed cheeks.

"Emma, I'm sorry," Mary Margaret said, the fear of the incident catching up with her as the adrenaline fled her body. "You told me you'd been spanked before."

"I don't..." Emma said weakly. "I don't know if I know what that means. I've been punished a lot of ways."

"To me, it means whacking your bottom with a paddle or something hard enough to make you cry, but not enough to leave marks other than redness for a couple of days." Mary Margaret tried to explain.

"I don't think I've ever been hit that way," Emma mused tiredly. "You won't use your belt?"

"Not right now, no," Mary Margaret answered, a bit bemused.

"And you won't hit my back or anything?"

"Oh, Emma! Of course not! Who would do that?"

"Mr. Robinson," she answered. "He used to make all of us, boys and girls, strip naked, and he'd hit our backs and legs real hard. Some of the older kids even bled sometimes," Emma said. "That was better than Mrs. DuGray, though - she used to hold us underwater if we misbehaved. I still can't go swimming," Emma said with a shudder. "You won't do that, will you?"

"Oh, Emma," Mary Margaret said again. "That's called abuse, and I could never do that to you. Tell you what," she said, suddenly struck by an idea. "I don't want you to be afraid of me. For trying to run away, I'm gonna punish you by not letting you watch TV for two weeks, and you're gonna be on dishwashing duty for the rest of this week. Once you get more comfortable with me, maybe we'll revisit the idea of a spanking, but until then, I think taking away privileges will have to do. Sound fair?"

"What about all the other stuff I did?" Emma asked quietly.

"What other stuff?"

"You know, like, crying on you, and telling on my old foster parents, and stuff..." Emma whispered.

"Sweetheart, all of that stuff was not bad. In fact, I'm glad you did! I don't want you to feel like you have to hide anything from me. I'm here to take care of you, Emma," Mary Margaret said seriously, looking Emma in the eye. "I care about you."

Emma didn't say anything, but buried her head in Mary Margaret's neck. Mary Margaret held Emma until her breathing evened out, and she knew the girl was asleep.

Holding back the tears in her eyes, Mary Margaret released the one thing she'd been dying to say since she met this girl. "I love you, Emma," she whispered into the blonde curls at her shoulder.


	5. 5 - Step In Line

egads, this is embarrassingly short. it's mostly filler, i guess - we're getting closer to the big reveal! if you haven't figured out who henry is yet, now would be the time to look for clues ;) happy reading!

p.s. many thanks to my awesome friend, **2takuya**, for reading my incessant rambles and providing me with stellar ideas. you're the best!

p.p.s. y'all better be so happy to read this chapter, because the next one isn't even finished yet, but i'm posting this because you asked ;p

* * *

The weeks passed, and Emma and Mary Margaret grew closer as Emma began to let her guard down. There were moments in every day where Mary Margaret's heart just about broke from the sad little snippets of Emma's past life that the girl let out - but there were just as many, if not more, moments when Mary Margaret's heart swelled with joy from just being around this spirited and spunky child. Mary Margaret didn't remember much of what her life was before Emma came to Storybrooke, but she did know that it certainly wasn't as interesting or enjoyable.

There was a small niggle in the back of the teacher's brain, though: where were her foster parents? Snow had asked her friend Ruby to watch Emma for the afternoon, because she had something important to do.

Mary Margaret parked her car out front, and walked down the long hall into the belly of the building.

Raising a nervous fist, she knocked sharply on the doorjamb. "Sheriff Humbert? Do you have a moment?"

The rumpled young man looked up in surprise. "Ms. Blanchard!" He stood, running a hand through his hair. "Erm, please, come sit," he offered, gesturing to a banker's chair opposite his desk. "What brings you here this afternoon?"

"Emma," she said bluntly. "As you may know, I recently took in a young girl. She just...appeared in Storybrooke, and she's told me that she ran away from foster care, in Hartford. I realize that Hartford is a ways away, but it's been several weeks, and I can't imagine that no one is looking for her."

Graham furrowed his brow. "And you wanted me to try and find her guardians," he concluded.

"Well, yes," Mary Margaret said, puzzled by his defeated tone. "I mean, I am more than happy to have her remain under my care, but I also know that I have no legal claim to her, and I just want what's best."

"If I may be honest with you, Mary Margaret," Graham began, "I have been asked already to find her legal guardians."

"Regina," Mary Margaret whispered. "Of course the Mayor would want her gone."

Graham flushed under Mary Margaret's appraising stare. "Anyway, I have been looking non-stop since I was given the order, and I haven't come up with any leads. It's as if all outside trace of her has just...vanished."

"But that's-"

"Impossible," Graham finished. "Believe me, I'm as baffled as you. But, until such time as I'm able to find any documentation to prove otherwise, as Sheriff it's my duty to provide Emma with someone trustworthy to act in loco parentis. So, Ms. Blanchard, if you'd be willing, it would be a civic honor to stand in as Emma's guardian."

Mary Margaret was flabbergasted. "Are you sure?"

"You've been doing well so far," he encouraged.

"But what about-"

"I'll explain to Madam Mayor that it couldn't be done."

Mary Margaret quirked an eyebrow. "She'll understand that?"

"Eventually," Graham said, his eyes conveying the nervousness his casual shrug belied.

"And there's nothing else I need to do," Mary Margaret confirmed.

Graham shook his head. "Just what you've been doing."

"Thank you, Sheriff!"

"My pleasure, Ms. Blanchard. Have a lovely day."

"You too," she said, by way of farewell.

Mary Margaret felt abnormally light and giddy as she went to collect Emma from the diner. She didn't know why, but she felt much more..._complete_ as a person now that Emma was in her life. She had noticed that, aside from her school uniform, Emma didn't have much in the way of clothes. So, on a whim, Mary Margaret decided that to cement her new role as guardian, she'd take Emma on a whirlwind tour of the small town's youth outfitter contingent.

"Hi, Mary Margaret!" Emma said with a grin, her pixie face covered in flour and smudges of chocolate.

"Hello, Emma," Mary Margaret returned the greeting, a bemused smirk on her face as her friend stepped out from behind the counter, blowing a lock of red-streaked hair from her eyes.

"We made Granny's famous chocolate chip cookies," Ruby said, a rueful grin curling her lips. "Or, at least we tried to," she said with faux-chagrin, sparing a glance at Emma.

Mary Margaret turned her gaze to the girl, who was suddenly looking sheepish. "The dough was really good!"

Mary Margaret and Ruby laughed. "I'm sure it was," Mary Margaret assured her. "Would you like to go shopping with me, Emma? There are some things we definitely need to get," she said, thinking of Emma's distinct lack of winter-wear.

Emma shrugged. "Got nothin' else to do," she said easily.

Though a bit nonplussed at her reaction, Mary Margaret was excited for the trip, and so they bid goodbye to Ruby as they left the diner for the center of town.

* * *

"Emma, can't you just try it on?" Mary Margaret was nearing the end of her patience. Picking out the basics had been easy - Emma liked mostly neutral colors, unisex to boyish designs, and very simple patterns - Mary Margaret was fine with that. They'd gotten an assortment of thermals, sweaters, leggings, and jeans, with a few pairs of socks and some collared shirts. Emma had even been willing to concede on the school shoes for a pair of leather oxfords Mary Margaret preferred over Emma's choice of new hi-tops. But Mary Margaret wanted Emma to have a nice outfit, for the town holiday party, a birthday, or some other special occasion - and she wanted Emma to have a dress, in particular. But Emma flat-out refused to even try one on.

Mary Margaret held up the gray wool dress, trying to determine what about it was so offensive to Emma. It was the least embellished of all the dresses available in the store, and was very simply cut - a bodice reminiscent of a t-shirt, which flared into an a-line skirt that ended at the knee. There was a black grosgrain ribbon accent at the natural waist, and a bit of puff to the shoulders.

"Please, Emma?" She asked again.

"I don't like dresses!" Was the terse response.

"You need a nice outfit," Mary Margaret insisted.

"Fine, just not a dress!"

Mary Margaret frowned. "Skirt, then?"

Emma poked her head out from behind the curtain. "If I have to," she whined.

Mary Margaret grabbed a few items off the table, passed them to Emma, and crossed her arms to wait. When Emma came out, she tucked a lock of hair shyly behind her ear.

"Oh, Emma," Mary Margaret breathed, staring at the girl in amazement.

Emma wore a tartan plaid tulip skirt with a bow at her waist. She'd tucked in the navy and forest green gingham shirt, and rolled the cuffs and collar over the poppy red cable-knit sweater. Her legs were encased in ivory ribbed tights, and she futzed with the new watch around her wrist as she waited awkwardly for Mary Margaret's verdict.

"You're beautiful," the teacher whispered, getting a little choked up at the sight.

"Geez, you don't need to be so mushy," Emma groaned, but inside her heart glowed with happiness. Dressing like the boys was easier for her, considering how much she liked to run around and get dirty, but it was also easier for her to protect herself if she didn't look so vulnerable. But Mary Margaret's praise made her feel powerful in her own right, and she didn't need jeans or ratty Converse to protect her.

"Boots!" Mary Margaret said suddenly, after a long hug with Emma. The girl was a bit startled by her teacher's outburst, and Mary Margaret laughed at her shocked expression. "You need winter boots," she clarified.

Emma shrugged. "Too nerdy, too furry, too tall, too short," she pointed out the flaws of each pair that Mary Margaret showed her. "Those are so cool!" She said, pointing at an ankle-height pair of gray suede booties with a matching sherpa lining. They had plain gray laces in them, but Emma spotted a wall of fluoro bootlaces, and begged Mary Margaret for the neon violet set. It didn't take much begging for the woman to cave, though.

Armed with armloads of bags, the two ladies made their way back home, tired and happy. Mary Margaret allowed an order-in meal (something she tried not to, because she wanted Emma to have enough healthy food to eat) because she was thoroughly wiped out, and she and Emma snuggled on the couch as they ate pizza and watched a movie.

Emma felt content. It was new feeling for her, and she liked it a lot. She liked knowing that Mary Margaret was going to be there for her when she needed her. She liked feeling safe. Though they had their ups and downs, overall, Emma was happy - and she didn't know that she'd ever been that way before.

Of course, not everything was perfect. Henry still believed in that book, and though he and Emma were the best of friends, it did cause a bit of a rift between them. Emma hadn't ever been allowed over to his house, either, because his mother wanted her out of town. But Mary Margaret made sure that they could spend as much time together as possible, which Emma was thankful for. And it was more than enough fun to have Henry come over to their apartment, because Emma had never been allowed to have friends over before - or had any friends to invite.

Mary Margaret loved it when Henry came over. Not only because it made Emma happy (and kept them both out of trouble), but because it made her happy, too. If having Emma with her made her heart feel whole, having Henry there too made it doubly so. But, though she didn't know why, there was still a little tickle inside her that warned her that everything was not all there.

* * *

As they passed through Thanksgiving and onto the winter holidays, Mary Margaret decided to organize a class trip to the hospital, to bring the patients she volunteered with some holiday cheer, and to give the kids a life lesson in helping others. They spent the week making banners, pennants, and paper flowers, and on the Friday before the holiday break, Mary Margaret led her fourth graders to the intensive care unit of Storybrooke General Hospital.

All the lucid patients were thrilled to have visitors, and the children were well-behaved and polite as they decorated the ward in cheery colors and holiday fairy lights. Emma and Henry tag-teamed the flowers, switching out the old flowers in each person's vase for the brightly-hued tissue paper blooms the class had made. They had filled all the vases in the room, but still had one bouquet left.

"That's weird," Emma said. "Must be extra."

"Uh-uh," Henry disagreed. "Ms. Blanchard was very clear on how many patients there are here."

"Maybe someone got discharged," Emma suggested.

Henry shook his head.

"Henry, not everything is a conspiracy," Emma said with a heavy sigh.

When Henry looked hurt, she apologized. "There he is!" Henry whispered with a point, already forgetting about his theories at the sight of the comatose man.

"I don't think we're allowed to go in there," Emma said, as Henry crept over to the glass door.

"In and out, that's all we're doing," Henry justified. Emma threw her hands up and followed him in.

"Okay, Henry, you dump out the flowers while I-Henry?" Emma asked, shocked at the look of surprise and joy on Henry's face.

"I found him!" Henry whispered excitedly. "Emma, this is Prince Charming!"

"Henry-"

"Honest!" He said, pleading with her to believe. "He's been here this whole time..."

"I don't think-" Emma tried again.

"Wait, I've got my storybook in my backpack!" Henry plopped his bag on a chair by the bed, and rifled through it to find the book. "Here! Maybe if we read to him, he'll remember!"

Henry flipped through the pages to find the stories of the shepherd-cum-prince, but they were interrupted by the door opening again.

"Henry? Emma? You're not supposed to be in here," Mary Margaret said with a sigh.

"I _know_, I was trying to tell Henry that, but-"

"Ms. Blanchard, do you know who this is?" Henry asked, cutting off his friend.

"Not really," Mary Margaret answered. "He doesn't have a name, and he's been here as long as anyone can remember. I visit him on occasion, but mostly people stay out of his room. Like the two of you should be doing," she said pointedly, looking at them, then the door.

"Maybe if you read to him, he'll wake up," Henry said hopefully.

Mary Margaret sighed. Henry was trying the puppy eyes on her. "Henry," she tried gently. "What good would reading do for him? He can't hear us."

"I've done a lot of research," Henry tried. "Coma patients generally respond well when loved ones interact with them, by talking or reading to them as if they can hear. I don't think anyone's ever talked to him before," Henry said sadly.

"The key phrase there being _loved ones_," Emma muttered under her breath.

Mary Margaret nodded. "Henry, I don't know this man."

"Are you sure?" He asked again, begging with his eyes to be understood.

For the first time, Mary Margaret understood. She saw that this book was the same one he had told her about in class; the one Emma had told her he thought was real. And if she was Snow White, maybe...

"Henry, who do you think this is?"

Henry bit his lip, and Emma's eyes darted between teacher and student like a tennis match. "Prince Charming," was his soft answer.

Mary Margaret crossed around the foot of the hospital cot, placing a gentle hand on Henry's shoulder. "Henry, honestly, I have no idea who this man is. Sometimes I come in here to change his bed or clean it up a bit, but that's the extent of my knowledge."

She began to steer the boy to the door of the room, but she glanced back at the comatose man and stopped for a moment. Maybe he did look a _little_ familiar, but one of those faces that tugged at the back of your mind and you never could figure out. Henry had put his hand on top of the book, as if to seek comfort from it, and his other hand gripped the foot-rail at the end of the bed. Emma placed her hand over his, looking at his pursed lips and downturned eyes in sympathy. Emma's other hand dangled the flowers lazily above the story book, still resting on the patient's feet, and Mary Margaret still had one hand on Henry's shoulder.

Suddenly, each person felt as though a shock had gone through them, Mary Margaret most of all. She jumped back, fear in her eyes, as the monitors hooked up to the unknown patient began going crazy.

"Emma, Henry, join your classmates," Mary Margaret instructed harshly. Her tone was severe, but both children knew her well enough to hear the fear in her voice. Emma grabbed her flowers, Henry his book, and they hightailed it out of the room.

Doctors and nurses rushed past the kids to get to the John Doe, and their peers began questioning them about what had happened in the room.

"Nothing," Emma was quick to say, glaring at Henry to shut him up.

"Yeah, we were just talking, and then all the machines went off." Henry agreed, deflated at not being able to share his magical theories with anyone.

Both kids craned their necks to see what was happening in the room of windows, but all they could see was a bunch of people in white coats crowded around the bed, and Mary Margaret off to the side with a hand pressed to her mouth.

The kids were herded out of the hospital by their teacher a few minutes later.

"Ms. Blanchard, what happened?" Emma asked quietly.

"I don't know," was the reply. Mary Margaret kept glancing back over her shoulder, as if to make sure that the doctors were still taking care of the patient.

* * *

The young teacher was distracted the rest of the afternoon, and ended up instructing the children to talk or play quietly until the final bell.

"That was magic, Emma," Henry whispered in his friend's ear, when Paige and August had left the table. "Didn't you feel it?"

Emma bit her lip. "I felt...something," she whispered, annoyed. "But I don't know that it was magic!"

Henry grinned. "It was."

"Well, if Ms. Blanchard is that guy's true love, why did we feel stuff too?" Emma asked, trying to stump Henry.

"I...I don't know," Henry mumbled. Pulling the book from his bag, again, he thumped it on the table. "Let's find out."


	6. 6 - Wreck My Mind

another short chapter...sorry about that :| but many secrets revealed in this one! next chapter, we'll be hitting the nitty-gritty pretty hard. i felt like you guys deserved this now, especially because the next chapter probably won't be up for a week or so. birthday shout-out to the best dad a girl could ask for - love you, popcorn! and happy 12/12/12!

thanks for reading! y'all are the best. xoxo, sophie

* * *

Henry flipped through the book at a rapid pace. His tongue poked through his lips as he turned the pages, and then he stopped, exhaling triumphantly. "Here's where I stopped," he said. There was an illustration of Snow White with a bluebird on her right pointer finger, and her left arm tucked underneath her protruding stomach.

"She has a kid?" Emma asked in shock. _'__No__, __not __shock_,' a voice in the back of her mind told her. _'__You__'__re __her __child__, __Emma__. __You __are __the __daughter __of __Snow __White __and __Prince __Charming_.'

"Yea-no, wait," Henry amended. "Read this!"

_Snow __White __gazed __out __at __her __kingdom__, __chirping __sweetly __to __the __bird __perched __on __her __finger__. __She __smiled __with __a __sigh __as __he __flew __away__, __and __rubbed __her __free __hand __lovingly __across __the __top __of __her __nearly__-__spherical __abdomen__._

"_Hold __out __your __hand__," __a __voice __whispered__. "__I__'__m __ready __to __know __what __we__'__re __having__."_

"_Charming__!" __Snow __chided __with __a __laugh__. "__You __promised __to __wait __with __me__!"_

"_Yes__, __I __know__, __but __trying __to __decorate __the __nursery __neutrally __is __proving __more __of __a __challenge __than __I __had __anticipated__," __he __grumbled__. "__All __of __the __rulers __from __neighboring __dominions __send __messages __asking __if __they __should __send __tributes __of __pink __or __blue__!"_

"_Tell __them __yellow__, __Charming__," __Snow __suggested__._

"_I__'__ve __tried__ - __they __won__'__t __listen__!"_

_Snow __stifled __a __giggle __at __her __Prince__'__s __pout__. "__Alright__, __James__. __You __may __find __out__." __Snow __closed __her __eyes __and __held __out __her __hand__, __palm __facing __towards __the __sky__. __Charming __pulled __a __medallion __from __his __pocket __and __dangled __it __over __his __wife__'__s __upturned __extremity__. __Slowly__, __the __pendant __began __to __sway__ - __east __to __west__, __then __north __to __south__, __then __north __to __west __and __south __to __east __until __the __necklace __swung __around __Snow __White__'__s __hand __in __a __controlled __but __frenetic __circle__._

"_It__'__s __no __use__," __Charming __mumbled__, __stuffing __the __heirloom __back __into __his __tunic __pocket__. "__It __must __be __broken__."_

"_What __must __be__?" __Snow __asked__, __her __eyes __opening __once __more__._

"_My __mother__'__s __necklace__. __It __did __not __choose __one __direction__, __it __spun __towards __them __all__."_

_Snow__'__s __eyes __widened__. "__Charming__, __get __Doc __immediately__! __What __if __something__'__s __wrong __with __the __baby__?"_

"_Snow__, __dearest__, __I __don__'__t __think__-"_

_Snow__'__s __eyes __were __filled __with __fear__. "__Please__, __Charming__."_

_He __nodded__, __and __went __to __do __her __bidding__. __Snow __made __her __way __to __a __plush __chaise __in __a __secluded __corner __of __the __chamber__. __It __felt __wonderful __to __be __off __her __feet__, __and __she __didn__'__t __have __to __worry __about __jerking __forward __when __the __baby __landed __a __particularly __sharp __kick __to __her __innards__._

_Doc __came __rushing __in __a __few __moments __later__, __Charming __following __close __behind__. "__Are __you __hurt__, __Snow__?"_

"_No__, __but __I __am __concerned __about __the __baby__. __The __enchanted __necklace __my __mother__-__in__-__law __gave __to __me __is __supposed __to __determine __the __sex __of __your __child__ - __present __or __future__ - __but __Charming __said __it __was __malfunctioning__."_

"_May __I __see__?" __The __dwarf __asked__. __Charming __pulled __it __from __his __pouch __and __repeated __the __actions __he__'__d __made __earlier__. "__That __is __curious__," __he __murmured __thoughtfully__._

_Kneeling __beside __Snow__, __Doc __pressed __his __ear __and __hands __all __around __her __enlarged __stomach__. __He __felt __carefully __around __the __outer __perimeter__, __and __pressed __his __ear __to __her __on __both __sides __of __her __belly__._

"_Well__, __Your __Majesties__, __I__'__m __afraid __I __have __some __good __news__, __and __some __bad __news__. __The __bad __is __that __the __necklace __will __not __work __for __you__, __in __all __likelihood__, __because __the __good __news __is __that __you __are __bearing __twins__!"_

"_Twins__?" __Snow __asked__, __in __breathless __amazement__._

"_Twins__," __Charming __repeated__, __kissing __his __wife __fully __on __the __lips__. "__We__'__re __going __to __be __parents _twice_!"_

"She has _two_ kids?" Emma asked, eyebrows reaching for her hairline in disbelief.

"That's what it says here," Henry said, eyes alight with excitement.

Emma's head began to ache, and she scrunched her brow in pain and consternation.

"Emma, are you okay?" Henry asked quietly.

"Uh-huh," she nodded, wincing as her sore brain hit the cage of her skull. "I'm fine."

"Ooh-kay," Henry muttered sarcastically, not believing her for a second. "Do you wanna go to the nurse?"

"I'm _fine_," she bit out, frustrated at the throbbing happening between her ears. "I...I don't want Ms. Blanchard to know," she whispered, in a softer tone.

"But, Emma-"

"Henry," Emma whined.

"Fine. But I'm not gonna be happy about it," he pouted.

Emma struggled through the rest of the day's lessons, each sentence adding a layer of tension to her already-taut forehead. She felt her eyes drift close a number of times, but a swift nudge from Henry startled her back into focus.

She was thrilled to go home that afternoon, and took care to follow Mary Margaret's steps exactly up the stairs so she didn't trip.

When they stepped into the apartment, Mary Margaret commanded, "Follow me."

Emma did so, a bit puzzled when her teacher's steps took them up the stairs and into the small bathroom right off the landing.

Feeling rather dizzy, Emma plopped onto the closed lid of the toilet as Mary Margaret rummaged through the medicine cupboard, looking for something specific. Emma pressed a hand to her temple, as the rattling of the pills and glass was aggravating her migraine.

"Hold out your hand," Mary Margaret whispered gently. Emma extended her free arm, palm up, and felt two smooth capsules fall into her cupped appendage.

"What are these for?" She slurred, her blurry vision barely allowing her two make out the oblong shape of the two blue and red pills.

"Your headache," Mary Margaret said, picking up Emma's water glass off the counter and filling it at the tap. "Drink," she directed, handing the cup out to Emma.

Emma popped the medicine into her mouth, tilting her head back sharply when she took a sip of the water to force the pills down her throat. "How'd you-"

"I get headaches too," Mary Margaret shrugged. "Now, expect a scolding later, but for now, I think it's a good idea for you to go take a nap."

Emma thought that her bed sounded heavenly right about now, and so made no complaint as Mary Margaret followed her into her room. Emma toed off her boots, pulled off her sweater, undid her skirt, and crawled into bed clad only in leggings, socks, and her school shirt. Mary Margaret reached over her to draw the shades, and then tugged the quilt up under her neck and around her shoulders.

As she plumped the pillows around Emma's head, the girl whispered drowsily, "Thank you."

"My pleasure, sweetheart," Mary Margaret said. In that moment, her eyes unfocused and her mind cloudy with sleep, Emma could almost imagine that Mary Margaret was really her mother, just like her dreams and Henry had always said she was.

"Love you," she murmured.

Mary Margaret's eyes filled with tears. "Oh, Emma...I love you too."

But Emma's eyes were shut tight, and her shallow little breaths told Mary Margaret that she was already asleep.

* * *

Emma sat up suddenly, wide awake. She'd had the strangest dream, about two babies wrapped in soft knitted blankets, a beautiful woman with long dark curls, a handsome man with a sword, and a gnarled tree with a door sized just right for a child. She rubbed her eyes, feeling like she'd spent entirely too much time with Henry, and then looked at her watch. "Nearly six?" She gasped. School ended at three! How could that be?

She jumped out of bed and ran downstairs, only to be met at the foot by a grinning Mary Margaret.

"Feeling better?" She asked, making her way back into the kitchen to keep working on their dinner.

"Why didn't you wake me?" Emma moaned, irritated at the length of her nap.

"Your body must be trying to tell you something, Emma," Mary Margaret suggested. "Perhaps we need to set a bedtime for you, if you're not getting enough sleep."

"I was sick!" Emma insisted, _definitely_ not wanting to be told when to go to bed.

"Were you?" Mary Margaret asked, her voice taking on a harder edge. Emma gulped quietly. "That's interesting, because I feel like we've had a conversation about telling me when something's bothering you, so that I can help."

Emma flushed in embarrassment. She remembered clearly the scolding she'd gotten the day she ran away from school. "I didn't want to worry you," she tried to excuse herself.

"Well, that isn't your concern, is it?" Mary Margaret asked rhetorically. "No, it's not, it's mine. I am the one to worry, whether you like it or not, because I am your guardian and that is my _job_. It doesn't matter if you scrape your knee or have a bad day or something really big happens, Emma - it is my job to help and look after you. But it's very hard to do my job if you won't tell me things. I don't think I can stress to you enough how important it is for you to tell me things. Not everything can be handled by yourself, and no one would expect you to, Emma! Why can't you just trust me?"

"I don't know," she said quietly.

"Well, as much as I will try to gain your trust by showing you, time and again, that I will not leave, I need you to try and open yourself up to me. I'm not always a mind reader, you know?" She winked at Emma, but Emma still felt bad.

"I'm sorry I disappointed you," Emma whispered.

"Nonsense," Mary Margaret tutted. "I was just concerned about your well-being, that's all."

She pulled Emma in for a hug, and Emma reciprocated.

"Wanna help me with dinner?" She offered.

"Okay," Emma agreed with a smile.

Mary Margaret handed Emma the vegetable peeler and the bag of potatoes. "How do mashed potatoes and fried chicken sound? I was gonna make some salad, too."

"Yum!" Emma answered.

They worked quietly, listening to the radio while they did, and then Emma saw Mary Margaret disappear from her peripheral vision. "Hey, where are you going?" She asked.

Emma heard no answer, and whipped around to find Mary Margaret. "Mary Margaret?" She asked, worried.

The teacher popped suddenly into view, scaring Emma half to death. "Waterloo," she sang into a hairbrush, "couldn't escape if I wanted to! Waterloo, knowing my fate is to be with you."

Emma looked at the woman like she was a total nutter as she danced around the kitchen, singing along to the Swedish pop song on the radio. But soon enough, another song came on that even Emma knew, and they forgot all about mashing the potatoes as they spun around the kitchen, taking turns belting out the words to "Borderline."

They ate dinner in front of the TV, Emma having been absolved of her crimes the previous week. She snuggled a bit closer to Mary Margaret when she put down her cleaned plate on the coffee table, and the teacher wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

"Oh," Mary Margaret started, knocking Emma's head off her shoulder as she rose. "This came for you, while you were napping."

"Who's it from?" Emma asked curiously, accepting the letter from her guardian and turning it over. "There's no return address."

"I suppose you'll have to open it to see," Mary Margaret said with a shrug. "I found it slipped under the door."

Emma took note of the warning scrawled on the flap of the envelope - _OPEN __IN __PRIVATE_ - and so took her plate to the sink and excused herself to go upstairs.

When she was settled again on her bed, she stuck a finger under the corner of the flap and tugged it across. A tri-folded piece of notebook paper fluttered out from the sleeve, and Emma uncreased it carefully.

_Meet __me __at __the __castle __tonight__, __around__ 10 __PM__. __Am __leaving __QR__. __Tell __no __one__. ~ __H_

Emma wrinkled her nose. She assumed it was from Henry - she really had no friends here, and the mysterious author of the letter had an 'H' name - but she didn't understand the rest. "Leaving QR?" She whispered. Was that code for a place? Or maybe a person...his mother's name was Regina, wasn't it? And then it clicked: Queen Regina. He was running away, again. Emma wondered why. But she looked at her watch, and it was only 8:30. She had plenty of time.

* * *

Henry had gone to see Archie after school, just like he did every Thursday. Only this week, he was excited by the thought of having magic of his own, and having used it for good. He couldn't wait to tell his friend.

But Archie hadn't been happy to hear the news. His normally congenial expression had darkened in concern. "Henry," he'd said quietly. "Magic isn't real."

"But...I _used_ it, Archie," Henry insisted, confused. Archie was always proud of him, so unlike his mom.

"I know you think you did, Henry, and that's what concerns me. You see, sometimes people slip so far into their delusions that-"

"This is _not_ a delusion!" Henry yelled, a bit surprised at his own outburst. But his ears were hot, and there was a bubbling froth in his stomach like a re-awakening volcano.

"Henry, your mother would have you put away!" Archie said loudly. Henry slumped back into his seat, fearful tears pricking his eyes.

"What?"

"I have to help you, or she'll find someone who will."

"I'm not crazy, Archie," Henry whispered brokenly. "You know that."

"Maybe I don't, anymore."

They'd sat in silence for the rest of the session, Archie casting sad sidelong glances at Henry every so often, and Henry glaring furiously at his shoes. When Regina came to collect Henry, he stormed past her without a word.

"What did you say to him?" She hissed darkly at the therapist.

"What you asked me to."

The ride home was silent, and Henry tried to dash up the stairs to his room, but Regina grabbed his arm.

"Talk to me," she demanded.

"I have nothing to say," Henry said fiercely, but tears caught in his throat and gave him away.

"Why are you so sad?"

"Why?" He yelled, fear forgotten in place of hurt and rage. "Because you threatened to lock me up! Because you threatened Archie! Because you control this whole stupid town and won't admit the truth to anyone! You're _evil_," he spat, the word like poison on his tongue, "and you'll never be anything else!"

He sprinted to his room and slammed the door, the impact rattling through the glass and marble house like an earthquake.

"Don't I deserve to be happy, too?" Regina whispered, if only to herself.

* * *

Mary Margaret got the text at 9:15. "Meet me at the place where I was found," it read.

Though she tried for it not to, her heart skipped a beat. Mary Margaret was head over heels for the comatose stranger, whose real name was David Nolan, and who wasn't comatose anymore.

Somehow, he'd woken up that day, when they were all in his room. He'd escaped the hospital, and turned up in the woods about five miles away from his starting point. Ever since then, they'd been stealing little moments - moments when neither his wife nor Regina were watching.

Shooting back an affirmation, Mary Margaret changed back out of her PJs and into an outfit that said "adorably sexy" but not "trying to impress you." She tiptoed out the front door, hoping Emma wouldn't miss her.

* * *

Emma snuck out of the house at 9:30, allowing herself enough time to walk to the abandoned park. She kept looking over her shoulder, expecting Mary Margaret to come storming after her, but no one came. When she got to the playspace, she could barely see a thing.

"Henry," Emma whispered into the darkness. "Henry!"

"Over here," a miserable little voice called, somewhere to Emma's right. Squinting, the blonde barely made out a huddled figure, curled up against the crosspiece of the castle.

Emma hurried over to him. "What's wrong?"

"I saw my therapist today," he began. "I told you about Archie, right?"

Emma nodded, then realized Henry probably couldn't see her. "Uh-huh," she affirmed.

"Well, I told him about the book. I told him everything - who everyone in town is, why we're all here, and how my mom's the one behind it all."

Emma winced, but stayed silent.

"And then he said he already knew - my mom told him, and told him to put a stop to me thinking and talking about it. He said," Henry choked slightly, as if even saying the words was painful. "He said I shouldn't see you anymore, because you coming here started all this mess. He said-"

"I don't care what he said!" Emma screamed suddenly. "If that's how you feel, that's just fine with me! I don't need you!" She began to storm off, tears already flowing down her cheeks, when Henry stopped her with a broken,

"Wait! Emma, wait!"

He'd run to catch up to her. "What?" She asked sullenly, crossing her arms.

"I wanna always be your friend," he said softly, placing a gentle hand on her arm. "You're my _sister_."

Emma roughly shook herself from his grasp. "I'm an orphan - I don't have any family," she insisted.

"Yes, you do! You and me, we're family! Our parents are Snow White and Prince Charming, and you're my twin sister!"

"Henry," Emma choked, her voice laden with sorrow, "please. Don't-"

"It's true!" He intoned softly, begging for her to believe him. "I know you know I'm not lying."

"I can tell that you believe what you're saying," Emma started carefully, "but Henry - I was found by myself, on the side of the road. There's no way-"

"I did some research," Henry interrupted. "My mom adopted me before that story was printed. She knew that we were coming, and she's the one that found us."

"Why didn't she take me, too?" Emma asked quietly.

"I...I don't know," Henry whispered. "I don't know why we got separated. But I can prove that we're related."

"Is it in the book?" Emma asked, the tremble of her voice canceling out the overlying sarcasm.

"You still have the two things your parents gave you, don't you?" Henry responded to her question with another question, though he sounded as though he already knew the answer.

"How did you-"

"Well, I've seen the chain around your neck, and it looks just like mine," he said, pulling out an antiqued-looking fox head charm from underneath his shirt. Emma clasped her fingers around her own swan charm nervously. "And yes, it's in the book. Our parents gave us these talismans, Emma."

"That doesn't prove anything," she said, but her voice was unconvincing, even to herself.

Henry smiled sadly. "I know. But I also have this." Henry pulled a lump of fabric out of his backpack, and handed it to Emma.

She examined it dazedly. It felt exactly like something she'd held before! She shook it out, turning it this way and that in the moonlight. A golden ribbon wound its way through the oatmeal-hued yarn, and a silken triangle in a corner with the name _Henry_ stitched in yellow glinted softly in the glow of the night.

"It looks just like my blanket," she whispered. "But, how...?"

Emma froze. Images of lives past flashed through her mind - a blue star candle, Henry, Ms. Blanchard, Mr. Nolan, a woman with golden hair that curled around her feet - and she blinked. Then her eyes widened. Her pupils dilated and contracted like the waves of a stormy sea. _It __hadn__'__t __been __a __dream_.

She remembered her old life, when Henry was her son, just as she knew now that Henry was her brother. It was twisted and confusing as hell, but surprisingly, she didn't feel afraid. She was happy to have Henry, in whatever form he'd come, and their _family_ again. A small smile curled her lips, and tears pricked her eyes as she pulled Henry into a tight hug.

"I love you, Henry," she murmured into his shoulder.

"I love you too, sis," he whispered back.

Emma sighed quietly when they finally pulled away from each other, and drew pictures with her toe in the dirt. She was glad it hadn't taken a poisoned turnover to change her mind, this time. But then she thought about the fact that waking Henry is what had broken the curse, and she frowned.

"So, does it say anything in there about how we're supposed to break this curse?" She asked timidly, never having finished it before.

Henry wrinkled his nose. "Just something about the sun and moon and the final battle," he answered. "I mean, I guess there's some useful information, but it assumes we're gonna break the curse on our own."

"Great," Emma said, rolling her eyes.

"We'll figure it out," Henry said confidently. "We have to."


	7. 7 - Lie And Burn

this chapter is going up (way) sooner than i had anticipated. i am feeling very helpless today, and devastated by the tragedy that has occurred in newtown, ct. it doesn't mean much, but i would like to dedicate this chapter to the families and friends of those students at sandy hook elementary, and all the kids in fairfield county. hurting a child (or anyone, for that matter) is **never** okay, and i desperately hope that those lives were not lost in vain. gun control is very important, but so is awareness of and assistance for those with mental health diseases. i struggle with anxiety and depression, and have for the majority of my eighteen years, and who knows what i would do if i didn't have access to the wonderful care and support i receive from my therapists, family, and medication.

i hope that all of you hug your loved ones close, tonight. i love and appreciate each one of you, and hope that you all realize just how important you are.

p.s. special thanks to my pal, **2takuya**, for talking me through this chapter. couldn't have done it without you, buddy!

* * *

Emma snuck back up to the apartment, having bid Henry goodbye on Main Street when they turned in opposite directions. She dug her key out of the pocket of her jacket, and turned it in the lock.

Looking around, she waited for the light to click on and Mary Margaret to appear, looking stern. But nothing happened. Emma furrowed her brow. She turned the lamp on in the entryway, then the light in the kitchen, and so on until all the lights in the downstairs were on.

"Mary Margaret?" She called, cursing the wrinkle of hesitation in her tone. "Are you home?"

When she got no response, she tiptoed to the curtained area and drew back the drapes, checking to see if the teacher had (with any luck) slept through the whole thing. But, no, the bed was smooth, and her pajamas were folded neatly at the corner. Emma's lower lip quavered.

Practically running back to the kitchen, she checked to see if there was a note she'd missed - a "Sorry, Emma, they needed a volunteer at blah-blah-blah, be back as soon as I can be" - but there wasn't. So Emma began to panic. She wasn't quite sure what to do, so she did what she knew how - shut down.

She didn't want to call the Sheriff - with a twist in her stomach, she realized that'd still be Graham, and he was still, for all intents and purposes, Regina's lap-wolf. She didn't want to call Ruby or Ashley or any of Mary Margaret's "friends," because what if she was overreacting? She decided that Mary Margaret would wake her if she fell asleep on the couch, so she turned off all the lights and waited it out.

* * *

Emma checked her watch. It was quarter-past midnight when she heard muffled giggles in the hall. Metal on metal clicked in the the doorframe, and Emma stiffened as someone stumbled into the apartment.

She heard footsteps, and the creak of a floorboard that Emma knew was by the foot of the stairs.

Emma pulled the cord of the lamp closest to her, and Mary Margaret, who'd been tiptoeing past the couch, stopped like a cockroach in a suddenly-lit room.

"Where've you been?" Emma tried to make her voice sound harsh and disapproving, but it came out hurt and childlike.

"Oh, I...we, well...Dav-a friend asked me to-"

_'David.'_ Emma had a bitter taste in her mouth. Of course that's what this was about. David turned Mary Margaret into someone entirely unlike herself - which explained the lack of note, the lateness of the hour, and Mary Margaret's guilty expression.

Emma wanted desperately to warn her friend; to tell her how it all turned out the first time. Of course, there was a happy ending, but not for a long, long time. But Emma knew that, for all of her good qualities, this Mary Margaret would not believe anything about a past life - it was just _too_ far-fetched. And as these premonitions threatened to boil over inside of her, Emma felt the urge to run away.

"I'm going upstairs," she muttered, desperate to get away from Mary Margaret for a number of reasons. She was tired, too - she'd had a long night.

* * *

Emma came downstairs the next morning with rumpled hair and tired eyes. She noted, with a twinge of guilt, that Mary Margaret looked the same.

Emma maneuvered around her teacher to get to the refrigerator, and grabbed a glass to pour herself some juice. She sipped her drink as she made her way to her place and sat down. Instead of being covered with pots of tea and cocoa, jars of jam, and plates of various breakfast foods, the table was pretty much bare, only the place settings and a small vase of flowers decorating it.

"Would you like some breakfast?" Mary Margaret asked, offering Emma a bowl of cereal. Emma's shoulders slumped, but she tried not to be discouraged.

"No, thanks," she mumbled. "I think I'm gonna take the bus today," she said, glancing at her watch. If she hurried, she'd make it to the stop in time.

"Okay," Mary Margaret said. "You'd better hurry."

Emma nodded crisply, and was out the door in under thirty seconds.

Her stomach growled as she rounded the corner near Granny's Diner. Her sharp nose picked up the smoky crackle of bacon, the sweet drizzles of syrup, and the hearty but mellow scent of eggs. But she shook herself out of that drool-inducing haze as she neared the gaggle of kids waiting for a ride. She was happy to be with other people, because she was kind of sick of Mary Margaret right now.

On the way to school, though, Paige started up a conversation about her father, and how wonderful he was, and all the wonderful things he did for her. Emma was as polite as she could be, but inside, her stomach was lurching and her bones ached with sadness.

Paige knew her father didn't have a lot, but he did all that he could to make her happy. Emma had thought that Mary Margaret was going to be that person for her - wasn't that mothers did? - but, as it turned out, she was more concerned with her love life than with Emma.

A small, older voice somewhere inside Emma told her that wasn't true - that Mary Margaret would (and _had_) do anything for Emma. But she brushed that voice aside in favor of licking her wounds and feeling sorry for herself. Sometimes, it was easier to hold a grudge than to forgive.

* * *

All day, Emma avoided Mary Margaret. The teacher made no effort to reach out to Emma, and that just made her more upset. _'If she really cared about me, she'd at least try to talk to me,'_ Emma thought bitterly.

Those thoughts bubbled up again when Emma decided not to have lunch. She was starving, but she figured that if Mary Margaret saw her not eating, she'd have to say something.

Emma's plan backfired, however, as such plans are wont to do - Mary Margaret did not come to the dining hall for lunch, choosing instead to go off-campus. Emma found that out when she sent Henry to do some recon. She was furious. First, Mary Margaret was abandoning Emma, and now she was deserting her students? This would not stand - not if Emma Swan had anything to do with it.

When class resumed, Emma periodically shot glares at the the teacher over her notebook. Most times, it seemed as though Mary Margaret didn't notice, but a few times, Emma caught the teacher's eye. When that happened, Mary Margaret would just slowly shake her head, and continue with the lesson.

When they went home, Emma thought for sure she'd have a chance to confront Mary Margaret. But she merely dropped Emma off at Granny's, and told her she'd be back by dinner time. Emma did her homework in sullen silence, and not even the offer of hanging out with Ruby could lift her spirits.

After she'd split her pencil in two while struggling with a particularly onerous equation, Ruby set a steaming mug of cinnamon cocoa in front of Emma and plopped down on the next stool.

"What's up, kiddo?" She asked kindly.

"Nothing," Emma lied, taking a slow sip of her hot chocolate so as not to burn herself.

"I don't buy that," Ruby said. "Is someone at school bothering you?"

Emma wrinkled her nose. "I guess you could say that."

"A kid in your class?" Emma shook her head. "A kid in another class?" Another head shake. "A teacher?" Emma nodded. "Your teacher?"

When Emma was silent, but her shoulders tensed, Ruby knew she was on the money. "Did you and Mary Margaret have a fight, Emma?"

"Sorta," was the weak response.

"What does that mean?"

"We didn't really fight...she's just...I don't wanna talk about it."

Ruby frowned. "Whatever it is, Emma...you and Mary Margaret will work it out. She's my best friend, and I know she cares a lot about you. It'll be okay."

In that moment, Emma knew that no one in this town could be trusted. They were all liars.

* * *

Days passed, with Emma talking less and less, and Mary Margaret spending more and more time away from the apartment. Emma had come to expect the sound of the door unlocking around 8:30, though, and so was surprised one night when that sound did not come. 9:30, then 10:30 passed, and Mary Margaret still was not home. Emma went downstairs to wait for her.

She was jerked awake by a noise at the door, and an unfamiliar voice.

"You'll be okay?" The gruff voice - male, Emma realized foggily - murmured.

"'M not drunk," Emma recognized the lilting soprano of Mary Margaret's voice under the slur of alcohol.

She strained her ears, but Emma couldn't make out any more of the exchange. Heavy footsteps shuffled further away, and the door clicked as it shut and locked.

Emma knew what alcohol smelled like. She'd been in enough foster homes with drinkers to know that it was a bitter, acrid smell - old and soggy and hot, burning the throat when consumed and the nostrils when inhaled. She was frozen on the couch, keeping perfectly still as her teacher moved past. She didn't want to have yet another late-night confrontation with a drunk parent. It was too much.

Once Emma was sure that Mary Margaret had passed out, she crept up the stairs and into her own room. Sleep came fast, but it did not come easy.

* * *

_Emma sat up in bed. She'd had the strangest, and yet most wonderful dream! Her eyes lit on the girl in the next bed; her best friend, Jessica._

_"Jessie!" She whispered, too excited to wait for morning to share the news. "Jess!"_

_"What?" Jess slurred, voice thick from disuse._

_"You know the fairy tales that Mrs. McLeod reads to us in the library? They're all real!"_

_Jess blinked and rubbed her eyes, trying to wake herself more. "No, they're not," she said, disbelieving._

_"Yes, they are! My mommy and daddy are Snow White and Prince Charming! I saw them!"_

_"Emma, that's stupid," Jess hissed in disgust. "Everyone knows fairy tales are made up, and everyone knows none of us got parents, including you. Go back to sleep."_

_Jess rolled over, but five-year old Emma still sat awake, with tears in her eyes. "I know they're out there," she whispered sadly. "I just gotta find 'em."_

* * *

_"Magic is real!" Emma insisted. The nine-year old stood tall in the face of present and growing danger, which came in the form of a severe older lady with a tight silver bun at the nape of her neck, and a fearsome-looking cane._

_"You dare defame God in my presence?" Mrs. DuGray asked in a low voice._

_"That's not-" Emma began to shiver, knowing what was about to happen._

_"I will not tolerate such devilish behavior in my house!" Mrs. DuGray grabbed Emma by the ear and hobbled her over to the bathroom. "Benjamin!" She yelled. A gangly, bespectacled boy appeared in the doorway. "Please fill the tub and prepare your sister for punishment."_

_Emma tried desperately not to cry, but a few indignant and frightened tears slipped out while the boy, who's real name was Dashiell, filled the tub with icy water and began to disrobe Emma._

_"Please, Dash," she whispered, voice breaking as the teen's gentle fingers slipped under the hem of her sweatshirt. "Please don't."_

_"You know I gotta, Em," he said, brushing a tear from her cheek. His dark eyes dropped hers as he lifted the garment over her head, pulled off her t-shirt, and tossed both aside. He began to unbutton her jeans, but she batted his hand away._

_"Please, Dash," she begged again, cheeks flushed in shame. "Please let me do it."_

_This time, Dashiell ignored her as he tugged off her pants, leaving her in socks, underwear, and a threadbare tank top. He turned the tap off for the tub, and left the room._

_Emma sobbed quietly as she shivered in the cold air of the room. Her arms and legs were covered in goosebumps, and her stomach felt tight with anxiety._

_"Come along, Mary," Mrs. DuGray barked at Emma._

_"My name is Emma," she muttered._

_"What was that?" Mrs. DuGray asked sharply._

_"Nothing, ma'am." Emma said dutifully._

_"That's what I thought." Mrs. DuGray grabbed Emma by the shoulder, and pushed her down to kneel before the edge of the tub. "I will not have Satan's words spoken under my roof," she proclaimed. "Perhaps this will teach you to hold your tongue!"_

_Emma tried to inhale, but Mrs. DuGray was faster than she had expected. The harsh impact of the bath's lip into her abdomen forced any air she'd sucked in right back out, and left a painful impression underneath her ribcage. Her eyes stung, and her arms flailed wildly behind her as she fought to breathe underwater. At first, she could see the inside of the tub clearly, but with the loss of oxygen, the view began to blur and fade. Emma closed her eyes tight, and multi-colored bursts of sparks flared underneath her eyelids. She felt weak, and drowsy, and she began to drift away - but just as she grew limp, a strong grip dragged her out of the water. She gasped for breath, her soaked curls stuck lifelessly to her face and neck._

_"Dry yourself off, and go to your room. You'll have no supper tonight."_

_When Emma had regained enough breath to speak, she choked out, "Yes, Mrs. DuGray."_

* * *

_Emma curled herself around her baby blanket, protecting it and her more delicate side from her foster father's rampage. He was in a drunken rage, stampeding through her room and tossing her belongings around as if they had no value whatsoever._

_'They probably don't,' a sour voice sneered in Emma's head._

_"You worthless shit!" He screamed, tossing a textbook at Emma's back. She jolted forward on impact, gasping from pain and shock. "You're a waste of space!"_

_Emma promised herself she wouldn't cry, and she held stoic as her fear and self-doubt turned into anger. In a swift, fluid motion, she stood, tossed her blanket under her bed, and faced her attacker._

_"I'm not afraid of you," she said, shoulders back and chin proud._

_He smirked sickeningly. "You will be, brat."_

_He lunged for her, but she ducked out of his way, and grabbed the textbook he'd lobbed at her. Raising it over her head, she slammed it into his oncoming face._

_"What the fuck?" He shouted, but his words were muffled by the blood pouring from his nose. Emma used the delay to grab her blanket and her bag of clothes, throwing that out the window first, and herself after. Adrenaline pumping furiously through her veins, she barely felt the fall, and picked up her bag and ran off into the night._

* * *

Emma sat up, breathing hard. Her throat was raw, as if she'd been screaming, and her sheets were damp and tangled around her. Emma felt hollow. Those nightmares were not really nightmares at all - they were memories, sickeningly real, and as Emma laid awake that night, those memories and more played on an eerie loop in her mind.

Emma clutched her blanket close as she recalled endless nights of feeling scared and helpless and alone. There was no one looking out for each other - it was every man for himself, or, in this case, every kid. She'd thought, once, that having a family would change all that, but she guessed that maybe when your mom didn't even know she was, and your brother lived in a different house, and your dad was basically a stranger, then maybe family wasn't really all that the movies made it out to be.

Emma curled in on herself, body shaking with silent sobs. Where was her mom? She'd finally gotten what she'd waited two lifetimes for, and yet, she still hadn't gotten what she _wanted_. Where was Mary Margaret with two mugs of cocoa and a soothing hug? Where was she with an open lap and a comforting shoulder? Emma swallowed a wail as she remembered that her mother was passed out in her room from overdoing it on shots with _Dr_. Whale.

She crept downstairs, figuring some late-night TV might help her fall back asleep. But every time Emma closed her eyes during yet another presentation of the Super Juice 2000 or Magic Vac X, images of her past lives painted the inside of her eyelids, and she had to jerk herself back awake.

Finally, around dawn, she grew so tired that she collapsed, her blanket warming her shoulders. That's how Mary Margaret found her around nine AM, though by that point, she was shivering. Mary Margaret wrapped Emma in a throw off the back of the couch and a quilt from her room, and quietly left the apartment.

* * *

"What do you want, David?" Mary Margaret asked, voice sharp from the lingering hangover.

"I left her," he said, almost as if proud of himself.

"And that's what you came here to tell me?"

David frowned at her unenthusiastic response. "I thought you'd be pleased," he said, a thread of hurt running through his tone.

"You love her, you don't, you're with her, you're not," Mary Margaret listed, tilting her head back and forth like her neck was a seesaw. "Make up your mind, David, because I'm getting tired of keeping track."

"I love _you_, Mary Margaret," David whispered in a pleading tone. "I tried working it out with Kathryn, I really did, but when I kissed her, I thought of you."

"Regina won't be happy about this," Mary Margaret hedged. "Neither will the town."

"Will you be happy?"

Mary Margaret looked into David's eyes, seeing the reflection of her love in his. "Oh, yes," she murmured.

"Then what does it matter?"

He leaned in for a hug, but she grabbed his chin and pulled it towards her. "I love you, David Nolan," she breathed against the scar on his chin.

"I love you too, Mary Margaret Blanchard."

Sitting on the blanket from the back of David's truck, their backs against a tree, the pair tried to catch their breath. Mary Margaret was the first to speak.

"Wait, where are you staying?"

"In my truck. I let Kathryn have the house."

"Oh, David, it's the middle of winter! You can't sleep in your car!" She frowned at him, as if debating something. "You can stay at my place. At least until you find your own."

"Won't that be..."

"What?"

He flushed. "I don't know, a little awkward? What with Emma and all."

"Only for a little while," Mary Margaret said, brushing off the matter. "She's quiet, you'll barely even notice her."

"I'm not worried about me," he said, but Mary Margaret had already made up her mind.

"You're staying with us, and that's final.

* * *

When Emma awoke, it was late afternoon, and Mary Margaret was bustling around the kitchen. Emma walked over to the counter and sat down on a stool. She rested her elbows on the counter with her chin in her hands, not saying anything until Mary Margaret turned around and saw her sitting there.

"Oh!" She cried softly, putting a hand to her heart. "You scared me, Emma! How'd you sleep?"

Emma shrugged noncommittally. "Okay, I guess."

Mary Margaret waited for more, but as had been the case lately, none was coming. "Do you want to help me with dinner?" She asked, desperate to spend a little quality time with Emma.

"I'm not really good at cooking," Emma said, feeling her chest tighten at the memories she had of baking with Mary Margaret.

"Okay, well, you must be hungry...can I make you something?"

"Nah, I'm okay," Emma lied.

She slid off the stool and turned her back, which is when Mary Margaret's face crumpled. She hastily wiped her tears and called out to Emma. "We're having a guest tonight, so please be dressed by six, okay?"

Emma nodded as she walked up the stairs. Her broken heart was slowly dissolving, and she felt another piece of it sink into oblivion as she pushed Mary Margaret away. She wanted her, but she didn't, but she _did_ - Emma was so confused, and upset, and tired...she didn't know how to handle her emotions, and she certainly didn't know how to let them go, so she kept them in. She got dressed, as Mary Margaret had requested, and washed her hands and face because she felt sticky from sleeping all day. As she stepped out of the bathroom, she heard Mary Margaret answer the door, and recognized the voice on the other side.

She thundered down the steps, glaring daggers at the man. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"Emma!" Mary Margaret hissed. "Don't be rude!" In a voice meant for David to hear as well, she said, "David will be staying with us for a while. I invited him to dinner so the two of you could get to know each other a bit better."

"I already know him," Emma spat. Charming, she could handle. He was kind, considerate, loving, and generous. But this man...David...was wimpy, spineless, selfish, and all-around no-good. "And I don't like him."

David smiled awkwardly. "I'm sorry to hear that, Emma." He said softly.

"I don't care what you think," Emma said snidely.

"_Emma_!" Mary Margaret yelled, obviously upset with the girl's behavior. "Would you like to spend the evening in your room?"

"Fine! It's better than being around you, anyhow!"

But before she could turn on her heel and stomp to her room, Mary Margaret landed a quick succession of swats to her bottom. Emma immediately teared up, and the indignance and hurt she felt, especially after the nightmares she'd had the night before, only served to fuel her anger.

"I hate you!" Emma screeched, her voice dripping with fury and loathing.

Wrenching her arm from Mary Margaret's grasp, Emma darted around David and down the hall. Mary Margaret stood stock still.

"Oh my God," she whispered. "What have I done?"

"All children tell you they hate you at one point or another," David tried to soothe Mary Margaret.

"Not Emma," Mary Margaret whispered. "And I deserved it." She grabbed her coat and purse off the hook, and, with a moment's pause, picked up Emma's coat too. "I have to go after her."

"Give her a bit of time to cool off. Let's eat, and if she's not back by then, we'll go out together, okay?"

Mary Margaret had a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, but she hung the coats back up and went to sit at the table. "Okay."

* * *

Emma shivered uncontrollably as she stood in the Mayor's backyard. She'd run all the way there, and the speed kept her warm, but a thermal, a fleece, and thick socks were certainly not enough to keep her warm while standing still. She picked up another pebble and chucked it at the window. The light was on in Henry's room, so she knew he was there - why wasn't he answering her?

"Miss Swan?" Emma froze, the silky voice causing her stomach to flip.

"Hello, Madame Mayor," Emma said, her own voice shaky.

"Come inside, Emma, it's too cold to be out without a jacket." Regina looked so friendly, framed in warm yellow light, that Emma nodded and followed her into the house.

"Make yourself at home," Regina offered, pulling two chairs out at the kitchen table.

"Where's Henry?" Emma asked.

"Oh," Regina said, coughing slightly. "He's upstairs, asleep."

Emma frowned, but didn't contradict her. They sat in silence for a few beats, until Regina spoke again.

"You know, Emma, we didn't exactly get off on the right foot. But you're Henry's best friend, and I'd like you to know that I support that. I made some of my worlds-famous apple pie today, and was going to cut myself a slice - would you like some?" Regina motioned to a glass dish, sitting by her right elbow.

Emma felt nauseated, and a permeating sour smell filled the air around her. "Oh, no thank you," she said quickly. "I don't care much for apples."

Regina's eyes narrowed, but she quickly covered. "Oh, Emma, I can assure you, this pie is not like any you've ever tasted."

Emma knew she looked suspicious, but she also knew what was happening. "Really, I'm okay."

Regina stood, then, and planted her hands outside Emma's elbows, creating a barrier and getting into the girl's face. "I don't know about you, Miss Swan, but I would do anything to protect my family."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means, dear Emma, that if you want your precious guardian to keep on living, you will have a piece of my pie."

"All this drama over some dessert?" Emma rolled her eyes, but she was terrified. She had no doubt of Regina's power in this town, magic or no.

"I think you and I both know that this is not just any old dessert. And while I'm not quite sure how you figured it out, I do know that you are much too young to outsmart me, Miss Swan."

"Wanna bet?"

Regina's eyes were calculating, and shiny with greed. "Absolutely."

"Henry would never let you hurt me," Emma tried to call Regina's bluff.

"Which is why he's locked in his room, so you don't try to drag him into one of your foolishly dangerous schemes."

Regina looked down her nose at Emma, the corners of her mouth turning up in a cold sneer. "Think of it, Emma. If you don't comply, Mary Margaret will be killed. That death will be on your head. On top of all the other heartache you've caused her, of course." Emma's stomach twisted into a knot. She had been distant with Mary Margaret lately, acting ungratefully and rudely. She wouldn't be able to live with herself if anything happened to Mary Margaret on her account. "And then, what would her students think? How would it feel to have your classmates turn on you? And the town - you're practically a stranger, but Mary Margaret has lived here all her life. She is a very important part of this town, and there are so many people who love her."

Regina's voice was growing bitter, but Emma hardly noticed. Tears coursed down her cheeks as she thought of the endless guilt and sorrow she'd feel if something happened to anyone she loved because of something she did, or worse, didn't do.

She steeled herself for the decision she was going to make, knowing that the lives of many were worth so much more than her life of one. "I'll do it," Emma said quietly.

Regina smirked grimly, and passed the pie plate to Emma. Emma took a deep breath, grabbed her fork, and took a bite. She felt her airways begin to seal, and her mind begin to fog. She heard a faint cackle as she slumped over in her chair, and to the ground.

* * *

"It's been nearly an hour," Mary Margaret said.

David sighed quietly. "Alright, let's go."

Mary Margaret leapt from her chair. She'd hardly touched her dinner, and David couldn't enjoy his if she wasn't. She grabbed her purse and threw on her coat, holding Emma's coat tight to her chest.

"I can check Granny's, if you want," David offered, trying to keep pace with Mary Margaret.

"That would be wonderful," Mary Margaret said. "I'll start knocking on doors."

They split off, David heading north to the diner, and Mary Margaret heading south to the neighborhood streets. Her first stop was Paige's house, where Emma had spent a few nights recently.

"Hi, Mr. Capp," Mary Margaret said, when Paige's father opened the door.

"Jefferson, please," he insisted. "What can I do for you, Ms. Blanchard?"

"I'm looking for Emma, is she here?"

Jefferson frowned sadly, noting the concern in Mary Margaret's eyes. "I'm so sorry, she's not."

"Thank you," Mary Margaret whispered, turning away.

"I hope you find her!" Jefferson called from the doorway.

Mary Margaret walked faster, then broke into a run, trying to think of where else Emma would've gone. "Would she have gone to see-"

Mary Margaret paused, standing in front of the Mayor's mansion. "Henry," she murmured.

She started furiously up the walk, bruising her knuckles on the hard wooden door as she knocked.

"Regina, open up," she muttered.

"Ms. Blanchard!" The mayor said in surprise, as she finally opened the door. "May I help you?"

"Is Emma here?" She asked. She knew she was, she could feel it, but she didn't know why Emma would be, considering she knew she wasn't welcome.

"Oh, I'm not sure," Regina said casually. "You're welcome to come in and look."

Mary Margaret stepped inside, casting a wary glance at Regina. The teacher followed the mayor through the foyer and dining room, and stepped into the kitchen. She saw a foot, and followed the leg until she saw the pale face, framed in unruly golden curls.

"Emma!" She shrieked, breaking into heaving sobs. "Oh, my Emma! What have you done?" She accused Regina.

"She's not dead," Regina answered. "Just...asleep."

"Why would you do this? What has she done to you? She doesn't deserve this!"

"_She_ may not, dear," Regina drawled, "but _you_ certainly do."


	8. 8a - Now And Then

y'aaall. where is the love? you gotta have a _little_ more faith in me than that! there is a master plan, i promise.

speaking of master plans, this is part one of a two-part chapter, which will be followed by two more chapters and then (possibly) an epilogue. i never intended this to be as big of a thing as it has become, and so i have to cap it at some point. plus, i have, like, a zillion other ideas floating around in this here noggin that need attention. so. that's that.

hopefully you guys are still reading, and i hope you enjoy!

p.s. many thanks to my buddy, **2takuya**, who basically comes up with every idea ever in this story (she's responsible for the fire escape). you rock!

* * *

Mary Margaret stared up at Regina, tear-stained cheeks puffed underneath eyes blazing with outrage and confusion. "I have no idea what you're talking about!"

Regina shook her head slightly. "Oh, I know. But I do, and that's all that matters to me."

Mary Margaret opened her mouth to say something else, but then her hand brushed over Emma's. _'__What __are __you __still __doing __here__?'_ Her mind screamed at her. _'__Get __Emma __to __the __hospital__!'_ "I don't have time for this, Regina," Mary Margaret hissed.

"They won't be able to help her, you know," Regina said smugly, as Mary Margaret whipped out her cell phone.

Mary Margaret ignored her, and dialed the familiar three digits. "I need an ambulance! The Mayor's house - my daughter's not breathing!" With a few affirmative responses, Mary Margaret hung up the phone.

"Your daughter?" Regina asked, an undercurrent of discomfort running beneath her mocking tone.

"My foster daughter; no matter." Mary Margaret said, the conversation inconsequential in the face of such horror. She leaned down to Emma, and brushed an errant tendril of hair out of her face. "Sweet Emma," she murmured, voice cracking. "I'm so sorry. Help is on the way."

Regina slipped upstairs as she heard the sirens pull nearer. A heavy brass key weighed down the front pocket of her dress, and she flipped it over in her hand as she stood before the door. Muffled shouts came from within the room, and Regina was surprised that Henry hadn't tired himself out by now. She slid the key into the lock, and gave it a decisive twist.

The door popped open, and Henry tumbled out. "What have you done to her?" He rasped, face red from exertion. "What did you do to my sister?"

"Henry, for the thousandth time, you don't have a sister," Regina sighed, voice long-suffering.

"Yes I do, and you took her away from me once! I won't let you do it again!" He pulled himself up by the railing, and was now glaring defiantly at his mother.

"Henry-"

"I don't care! I don't care what you say! I will find her, and I will save her from whatever curse you created this time!"

Regina stood, frozen, at the top of the stairs, while Henry chased the EMTs out the door and down the street. "What have I done," she murmured.

* * *

_Trapped. Emma was trapped. She was in an octagonal room, where all the walls were mirrored, and the only sounds she could hear were the taunts and jeers of everyone who'd ever been mean to her, and everyone she'd ever been mean to._

_"No wonder your parents didn't love you!"_

_"Swan, you piece of trash!"_

_"You, Emma Swan, will never amount to anything!"_

_Faces swam before her eyes as she recognized the words she'd heard forever. And then the noise cleared out, and she was left with herself. She stared at her reflection, eyes watery and red-rimmed. She pulled a face, hating her image more and more with each passing second._

_"I hate you," she muttered to herself._

_The words reverberated around the room, growing louder and louder so that Emma had to cover her ears just to keep her eardrums from bursting. She folded in on herself, scared and helpless._

_Trapped. Emma was trapped._

* * *

"C'mon, Emma," Mary Margaret whispered into the girl's ear, holding her hand as tightly as she dared. "You can do this, I know you can!"

She ran a gentle hand down the side of Emma's ashen face. She tried to ignore the tubes coming out of Emma's hand and nose, and focused on the warmth still emanating from her body.

"You're so strong," she murmured, pressing a kiss to Emma's temple. "You'll pull through. I believe in you."

The ride to the hospital, and the disembarking of the ambulance and entering the ER, was a blur to Mary Margaret. Everything happened around her, but the only thing she could focus on was feeling Emma's life, and reassuring her (however futilely) that everything was going to be okay.

In those moments, simultaneously fleeting and never-ending, Mary Margaret was thankful for Dr. Whale's infatuation. She noticed that he brushed aside anyone who tried to move her away from Emma, and she knew that it was probably in their best interest to go through him, and not her. These feelings of guilt, and responsibility, and overarching grief consumed her, and made it impossible for her to unlink her hand from Emma's.

After some time, perhaps even the entire night, an attending nurse brought a chair for Mary Margaret to sit in. She pulled it close by Emma's bed, and sank into it gratefully. Mary Margaret ran her fingers through Emma's hair, which was even more tangled than normal, and began to speak to her.

"I'm sorry," she said again. "There's no excuse for my behavior over the past few days. All I can tell you, Emma, is that I'm nowhere near as brave as you. I was scared. I was scared of losing your trust and love if I pushed you too far. I should never have left you alone. I'm sure you were scared, even more than I was, and that's why you pushed me away. I'm so sorry for making you feel as if you were going to lose me. In truth, I was afraid of losing you. I realize now that I could never lose you, or your love, because you live inside of me. There is a little Emma-shaped space, nestled deep within my heart, and it will never go away - not even if you do."

Mary Margaret absentmindedly brushed away the tears that had fallen from her eyes onto Emma. She leaned in, pressing her cheek close to Emma's, and smoothed away the hair from her face and forehead. "I love you, Emma," she murmured, her lips cool and wet against Emma's warm cheek. She planted a kiss there, and pulled away, dissolving once more into inconsolable sobs.

Then a shiver went up her spine, causing all the hair on her arms and neck to stand at attention. A breeze spread out from Emma's heart in rippling circles, and Mary Margaret leapt from her seat, shock and awe writ bold across her face.

"Emma?" She gasped, her right hand flying to her mouth.

The blonde girl let out a gasp, sitting straight up in bed. Mary Margaret rushed to her, applying light pressure to her shoulders to make her lie back down.

"I...you...huh?" Emma stuttered, confused at first. Then she gazed into Mary Margaret's eyes, and recognized something new there. "Snow?"

"Oh, sweetheart," Mary Margaret said with a sob. "Oh, my Emma. Yes, it's me. I'm so glad you're alright!"

Emma let Mary Margaret embrace her, glad to have her mother back. She was tired, but oddly exhilarated, and thrilled beyond words to be released from her dream-like prison. She tried to sit up again, ready to be out of the hospital and the gown that had come with it.

"Emma, you need to rest," Mary Margaret tried to insist.

"I'm fine, and we need to go!" Emma said, remembering what Gold had done the last time. "Don't you wanna find your Prince?"

Emma could see she'd caught her mother with that question, and used Mary Margaret's distraction to her advantage. She leapt out of bed on the other side, and began to to peel the various monitors from her body.

"Emma-" Mary Margaret began to scold, but it was too late. Emma had ridden herself of tubes and shucked the hospital-issue garment, leaving herself in a camisole and underwear. Sighing, Mary Margaret handed her the stack of clothing she'd carefully folded, and pulled the curtain to give Emma some privacy.

Once Emma was dressed, Mary Margaret enveloped her in another hug, showering her face and head with kisses. "I'm so glad you're alright, Emma," she said.

"I know," Emma replied with a grin. "I love you too."

They held hands as they left the hospital room. Turning the corner, though, they were bombarded by frantic citizens.

"Your Highness!" Mother Superior exclaimed, being the first to reach them. "The town is in a frenzy! What shall we do?"

"Blue, gather the fairies and try to maintain calm. Once I find Charming, we'll organize a meeting on how to proceed. Alright?"

No matter how many times Emma heard her mother give orders in that gentle, yet authoritative way, it never grew old. She was so enamored of Snow's royal persona, and how easily leading came to her. She hoped, somewhat uncomfortably, that when she became Queen, she would be respected half as much.

"Emma!" Emma's head whipped around at the name, and was tackled to the ground by a bundle of Henry. "I'm so glad you're okay!"

"I'm fine, bubba," Emma said, hugging her brother back. "Snow woke me up."

Henry helped his sister off the floor, and stared at his mother in wonder. "Snow?"

Snow smiled gently, new tears filling her eyes. "Hello, my son."

Henry flung his arms around her middle, burying his face in her stomach. She kissed his hair and murmured sweet nothings in his ear, much like she'd done with Emma. But she never let go of Emma's hand, and when Henry pulled back from the hug, she took his hand in her free one.

"Let's go find your father, shall we?" Mary Margaret suggested.

They were stopped along the way by a few townspeople, some of them friends, and some of them asking for help. Mary Margaret gave them the same directives she'd given the Blue Fairy, and told them to wait for further information before taking any action.

They'd nearly reached the center of town when the first earthquake hit. It was a small rumble, but enough to knock Mary Margaret and the kids off their feet. The people around them began to panic.

"Everyone, please remain calm!" Mary Margaret instructed. "We will soon know the cause of this quake, and figure out a course of action, just as soon as I find my hus-"

Out of the corner of her eye, Mary Margaret spotted a familiar frame. He was propped against the side of his battered blue truck, and he had a soft, adoring smile on his face. "Band," Mary Margaret breathed, finishing her thought. "Charming?"

His grin broadened, and he began to walk to her. She broke contact with her children, and ran to him, leaping into his arms. "Oh, Snow," he said, cupping her cheek in his hand. "How I've missed you."

"I love you, James," she answered, leaning in for a kiss.

"Ew, gross!"

"Hey, kids here!"

Henry and Emma wrinkled their noses and stuck out their tongues at their parents' PDA. When Mary Margaret and David had finished their embrace, they turned to the kids with identical smirks on their faces.

"Get used to it," Mary Margaret chided playfully.

David didn't say anything, but tentatively extended his arms for a hug.

Henry was the first taker. He ran to his father, throwing his arms around his neck. David grunted in pleasure, lifting Henry to his hip with a strong arm around the boy's waist. Emma was shy. She flushed, looking up through her lashes at her dad.

"I'm sorry about what I said last night," she apologized. "But I like you better, now."

David let out a hearty guffaw. "Me too, Emma...me, too."

Emma let a grin twist her lips, and burrowed into his open side.

Mary Margaret sighed in contentment. "Look at our family," she whispered.

"Come on, Snow," Henry said. "Join the hug!"

Emma and David echoed his statement, and, with a chuckle, Mary Margaret pressed her front to David's as she wrapped her arms around her children.

"Pardon me for interrupting, Your Highnesses," a gentle voice poked through their happy bubble. "The townsfolk are growing a bit...restless. When are we going to have a meeting?"

"What time is it, Jiminy?" David asked the former cricket.

"Quarter past ten, sir," he responded.

"Tell them we'll meet at noon, at Granny's. We'll dine, and then we'll discuss a game plan."

"Very well, Your Highness. I will pass it along." He bowed, his umbrella going across his stomach, and then walked away.

David leaned once more into his family's embrace, only to be shaken backwards by another tremor. "Hold tight to me!" He ordered, bracing himself and his loved ones against the brick facade of a storefront.

Together, the foursome weathered the quake, and when it was over, David commanded their attention.

"We've got to get to safety," he said. "Snow, let's take the children to your apartment. It's closer, and they'll be safe there. Then we can meet with the people and take action from there."

"I want to go to the meeting!" Emma piped up, rather disgruntled at being spoken about as if she wasn't there.

"Me too," agreed Henry. The twins stood in front of their parents, stubborn expressions on both their faces.

Mary Margaret would have found it highly amusing if she wasn't so worried. "Regina will be looking for you," she whispered. "It isn't safe for you to be exposed like this."

"We can take that old witch," Emma said seriously. Then, casting a glance at her brother, she muttered, "Sorry, Henry."

He shrugged. "It's okay. And she wouldn't hurt me, anyway."

"She poisoned your sister!" Mary Margaret shouted, flabbergasted by the kids' inability to grasp the severity of the situation.

"Yeah, but I'm fine now," Emma insisted.

"You're going to the apartment, and that's final!" Mary Margaret said, and that was the end of the discussion.

Two sets of puppy eyes turned pleadingly to their father, but though he was a bit tickled at being considered the pushover in the family, he stood firm beside his wife. "Listen to your mother," he said with a small smile.

Emma and Henry slumped their shoulders, but when their parents' backs were turned, they shared a private moment. They _would_ find out what was behind the quakes - it was just a question of when.

* * *

Emma and Henry had holed up in her room, poring through the story book to try and determine the cause of the earthquakes. Emma had not told anyone that she had memories of her past life, and didn't want to waste time on explanations now, but she tried to point Henry in the direction of the old fairy dust mines.

"I think it's coming from the woods," Henry said suddenly, after Emma flipped back to a scene of the dwarves at work.

"What makes you say that?" She asked.

"Well, look at this," he said, flipping to a story about Abigail, their father's ex-fiancee, and her love Frederick. "Frederick was saved by the water in this well. Doesn't that look familiar to you?"

Emma bit her lip and shrugged. "Maybe?" She remembered vaguely a well in the forest that August had taken her to, and him saying something about it being magical. "But why would that be causing earthquakes?"

"Because this is the land without magic," Henry explained. "Until the curse was broken, anyway. And now that everyone knows who they are, magic must be coming back. And that is where it would come!"

"Okay, so, when we get there, if that really _is_ where this stuff is coming from, what do you suggest we do?"

Henry frowned. "Uh...I hadn't gotten that far, yet. But I mean, we woke up Prince Charming! How hard could it be?"

Emma rolled her eyes. _'__You __have _no _idea__.'_

"But first, we've gotta figure out a way to get out of here," Henry continued. "Our parents are only gonna be gone so long, and once they're back, we definitely won't have a chance of sneaking out. We've gotta strike fast, and we've gotta strike hard."

"Whoa there, Thor," Emma said. "What do you wanna do to Ruby; knock her out?"

Henry winked at his sister. "I've got a better idea."

Henry explained his plan, and Emma's smile went from unsure to sly. "Henry, that's brilliant!"

He mimed tipping his hat to her, and stood from his spot on the floor. "Ready for Phase One?"

Emma nodded, her heart starting to race. When she'd been in the system, she never backed down from a dare. She summoned up every ounce of bravado she could muster, hopped up onto her bed, and unlatched the sash of the middle window in the bay. Stepping out onto the fire escape, she nodded to her brother.

"Ruby!" He shouted. "Ruby!"

Emma ran, quick as a flash, down the metal stairs and into the alley behind the building. She was thankful for Henry's preparedness as she felt the cold air on her cheeks and nose, but nowhere else. He'd packed their bags with supplies, and made sure that they each had warm enough outfits on.

The plan was for her to hide behind the trash cans in the back, and for Henry to lead Ruby in the wrong direction so he could split off and meet her back there.

She waited, crouched beneath piles of smelly black plastic, for what felt like ages. Then her ears perked to two sets of footsteps on the icy concrete.

"Did you see where she was going, Henry?" Emma heard Ruby ask. She winced guiltily at the note of panic in her friend's voice.

"Well, the fire escape lets off in this alley, so she probably went down the street," Henry directed. Emma winced again, this time at the obvious lie in her brother's tone.

But Ruby seemed to buy it, because she darted off in that direction. Henry began to follow her, and then doubled back to grab his sister and go.

"What if she notices you're not next to her?" Emma hissed, irritated at the idea of being caught.

"We'd better not give her time to," Henry hissed back. "Run!"

* * *

"Citizens of Storybrooke!" David called, grabbing the attention of the assembled masses. "Welcome back," he said with a small chuckle.

There were assorted laughs, but no one's mirth lasted too long. They were all upset about having lost so many years, and still not being in their homes in the Enchanted Forest.

"Your Queen and I have assembled you here to answer any questions you may have, and reassure you that everything here in Storybrooke is just fine," David said. Mary Margaret marveled at him, still enchanted by his poise and charisma after all these years.

"Your Highness, why have we not returned home?" A woman asked from the crowd. A ripple of agreement and disapproval splashed through the townsfolk.

"We're not sure," Mary Margaret spoke, joining her husband at the podium. "But we will do everything in our power to return home. Believe us when we say, we miss it too."

"Where is Queen Regina?" Another voice shouted. "Should she not pay for her crimes?"

Before either David or Mary Margaret could answer, a third voice rose above the noise.

"Your Highnesses!" Ruby was breathless, her hands pressed firmly against her knees as if to make sure they were still in place. As if remembering herself, she flushed and gave a small curtsey. "Please forgive me for the interruption, but the children are gone."

"Emma and Henry?" Mary Margaret gasped, stricken.

"Emma jumped out the window, and Henry tricked me. I am so sorry, Snow," Ruby apologized, her expression one of utter devastation.

"It's not your fault, Red," Mary Margaret consoled her friend, stepping down off the platform to put an arm around the waitress. "They're very slippery when they want to be."

"If Queen Regina is still at large, does that not mean that they are in danger?" Archie's voice was soft, but it carried in the now quiet hall.

"Oh, gods," David whispered, his usually strong voice weakened by fear. "I can't lose them again."

"Nor can I," Mary Margaret agreed. "Red, do you have any idea where they might've gone?"

Ruby nodded, opening the large leather-bound book she'd brought with her. "The storybook was open to this page, in Emma's room," she said. She propped it up on an empty chair, and the four adults stared at it in scrutiny.

"The well?" Mary Margaret asked, confused.

David nodded slowly. "The well."

* * *

Emma and Henry flicked on their flashlights as they entered the woods. It got darker as they went deeper, because the thick canopy of trees blocked the afternoon sun from view.

Emma pulled Henry along, her gut telling her the way to go. They zigged left, zagged right, and went a little ways up a hill before ducking under a low-hanging branch and entering a small clearing.

"Here we are," she announced.

Her limbs shook with energy, and without even looking at Henry, Emma could tell that his did too.

"Do you feel that?" He asked her, confirming her thoughts.

"I guess you were right," she said by way of confirmation. "Magic is strong, here."

There was a noise - a bird call, maybe, or a small animal running through some leaves - that startled both kids. Henry jumped, and Emma stumbled a bit. They shared a look, each feeling a bit silly, but also a lot unnerved.

"Should I check out the well?" Henry asked nervously.

"We'll do it together," Emma answered, sounding much braver than she felt.

They slowly walked up to the watering hole's edge. Suddenly feeling timid, Henry stuck out his hand to reach for Emma's. When she took it, a blinding shaft of bright white light spilled from the lip of the well, and an unseen force sent the twins toppling backwards.

"Ow," Emma said, rubbing the back of her skull where it had hit the ground.

She clenched her eyes shut tight, squeezing her brother's hand to try and lessen the pain.

Images flashed before her eyes, some of them memories, but most of scenes she'd never seen before. There was a strange, desolate land (that she vaguely recognized), a wind-whipped lake, and sickening purple fire that chilled her heart with terror. She saw herself and Henry, dressed in magnificent costumes, and each raising swords astride horses as if they were born to do it.

Her brain throbbed, and her forehead ached from the strain. Her knuckles were white, and she quickly released Henry's hand as she noticed that the tips of his fingers were nearly burgundy. But he didn't seem to mind, and as Emma looked into his face, she saw that his expression mirrored the one she'd previously worn.

"I can hear it," he muttered. "I can hear you talking about me, Emma."

"I didn't say anything," she said, a bit disturbed. _'__I __wonder __what __just __happened __to __us__.'_

"Me, too. Why were we on horses, and why did we have swords?" Henry opened his eyes, and they shone in excitement. "Do you think we were riding into battle?"

"Henry, did you see what I saw?" Emma asked.

"What do you mean, did I see?" Henry frowned, puzzled. "I heard you talking about the dream you had."

"I didn't say anything," Emma reiterated. "I saw something...a vision, or whatever. I don't know."

"You mean...you _thought _it?" Henry asked.

"Maybe, I guess. What does it matter?"

"Think something," Henry demanded. "Anything! Something I wouldn't know."

"Uh, okay." Emma looked at Henry like he was crazy, but did it anyway. _'__My __favorite __ice __cream __is __mint __chocolate __chip__.'_

"My favorite is moose tracks," Henry said with a proud grin.

Emma gaped at him. "So, what you're saying is, I'm a psychic and you're a mind reader?"

"Told ya we have magic!" Henry's smile was horribly smug, and Emma crossed her arms.

"Alright, smarty, how do we fix this well, then?"

Henry got up, and Emma followed suit. They walked cautiously back towards the well, careful not to get too close lest they be rebuffed again. But this time, as they neared, a greenish electricity seemed to jump across the surface of the water. Emma eyed it warily as the sparks smoothed out and began to whirl around in a cyclonic formation.

"What's happening?" Emma asked, having never seen anything like this before.

"I don't know," Henry said nervously. "Let's hold hands again, maybe together we can stop it!"

Figuring that Henry's idea was as good as any, Emma agreed, and grabbed hold of her brother's proffered appendage.

But the neon tornado increased in force, tossing their hair back in a static frenzy, and creating a storm in the formerly-clear sky.

Then the winds shifted, and the eye of the storm came down to where Henry and Emma stood. Emma felt her chest being tugged forward as she got sucked in the middle, and she could've laughed at the ridiculous nature of the situation had she not been so terrified. Henry tumbled in after her, and they flipped around in midair as they were buffeted around by the wind.

"If only there was a house," Emma joked, trying to lighten the mood.

Henry didn't respond, because he was too busy being sucked downwards into the bottom of the well.

"Henry? Henry!" Emma screamed. Then an unseen force gripped her ankles, and she was tugged down after him. Her chest constricted, but she summoned up enough air to call out a final plea.

"Somebody, help me!"

* * *

**END ****OF ****PART ****ONE**


	9. 8b - Now And Then

as this is probably going to be my last chapter before the holidays, i would like to take this opportunity to wish all who celebrate a merry christmas, and everyone else a happy new year! my christmas will be spent, as my ancestors before me, seeing _les miz_ and eating chinese food ;) then i get my wisdom teeth out the next day, so i'm not sure when i'll have time/energy to update.

hope y'all enjoy this one, and i'll see you when i see you! xoxo!

* * *

"Are you okay, Snow?" Aurora leaned into her friend, examining her face.

Snow sighed. "I suppose." She shook herself off, trying not to wince at the soreness in her joints from the impact of jumping from the beanstalk.

She _wasn__'__t_ okay; not really. She hadn't been since the ogre attack, which though only a few weeks ago, felt to her like an eternity. Several eternities. No parent should ever have to see their child in such grave danger, but especially when that child is grown, and has just returned into the care of her parents after a lifetime apart. Maybe that's not how the saying went, but Snow had been beyond furious when Emma had been in danger. And then, after the ogre was dead, Emma had withdrawn from Snow even more. Snow was heartbroken, and confused, and then inconsolable all over again when Emma had disappeared.

She couldn't bring herself to think that Emma had run away, and even less so that she could be...dead. Snow knew that Mulan thought Emma dead, and she was pretty sure Aurora shared the same views as her companion. But deep within her, Snow had a feeling that, although gone from her right now, Emma would find her way back. That is what their family did, after all - they found each other.

Snow had retrieved the compass, just as she'd allowed the giant to have his way with Hook. She was through being "the fairest of them all" - she felt neither beautiful nor just. She wanted one thing, and one thing alone, and that was to get back to her family. She felt that Emma must have figured out a way to reach Storybrooke, and she was sure that her husband, daughter, and grandson were all waiting for her safe return.

The giant had given her ten hours - he would either release and kill Hook, or he would release Hook and be killed himself. But they had a ten hour cushion, in case Hook prevailed. Snow had refused to rest, and instead insisted that they spend their time trying to reach Lake Nostos, where the portal could be created. Mulan and Snow were sure that Cora would know of Hook's death, and try to open the portal with the ashes as soon as she could. So the trio had huffed and puffed their way back through the forest and to Snow's actual wedding spot.

But they were too late. Cora stood in the middle of the lake, surrounded by glistening purple flames and a magical typhoon. She threw her head back and cackled, tossing the ashes from the wardrobe into the vortex with a villainous smirk. Snow felt the compass lift from her hands, and she did her best to keep it, but lost her grip and fell face-first into the dirt.

"Snow!" Aurora cried, rushing to her friend's aide. Mulan had already started to battle Cora's henchmen, parrying Cora's own magic thrusts with her enchanted sword. Aurora went to make a grab for the compass, while Mulan and Snow defeated Cora's zombies.

"Ah!" Cora shrieked, the storm ceasing as the Queen of Hearts was tossed back against a nearby dune. Aurora was thrown backwards as well, and Mulan ran to her side. Snow stood back, staring at two figures in wonderment. The two small children shook themselves off, looking around fearfully.

"Toto, we're definitely not in Kansas anymore," the girl quipped. "But where _are_ we?" She asked the boy.

He shook his head in confusion. "I have no idea."

"Henry?" Snow asked softly, disbelieving. When he turned at the sound of his moniker, she grinned and said it again. "Henry?"

"Snow!" He yelled, running towards her with his arms flinging themselves around her neck. "How'd you get here?"

She wrinkled her nose, perplexed, but before she could answer, Snow's eyes widened and she turned them around to block his body with hers.

"Oh, how sweet. Mother and grandson, together again." Cora had gotten back up, and was standing over them with a ball of magic writhing in her palm.

"Grandson?" Henry asked dazedly.

Snow gasped at the small figure running up to Cora, standing in front of Snow and Henry with her arms outstretched.

"If you want to hurt them, you'll have to go through me," the little girl said, her voice quavering slightly.

"How..._quaint_," Cora sneered, trying to brush the girl aside with her magic. But, somehow, the girl did not budge. Cora growled, and threw a fireball in the girl's direction, but as it neared her shoulder, it disappeared in a puff of sparks and ash. Enraged, Cora threw her arm out, and her right hand plunged deep within the girl's left chest cavity. "Victory," Cora hissed.

The girl's backbone was rigid, Snow noted, and her chin was upturned in prideful defiance. Snow noticed that she shook, a little, but otherwise acted as if she was unfazed.

"Please, Cora," Snow pleaded, reminded so much of her own daughter by this girl. "You may have my heart. Just...don't hurt this child."

"How valiant," Cora smirked. "But you should know better than to bargain with me, Snow. I will have your heart, oh yes - but only after having hers." Cora began to jerk her arm back, thrilled at the prospect of removing Snow White's heart once and for all, but could not, for the life of her, seem to remove the heart of this tiny ten-year old.

"I read a story, once," the girl began. "About a greedy goblin and a hungry man. The man had a jar of pickles, and the goblin - disguised as a child - asked for some. The man gave him a pickle, but he was unsatisfied, so the man gave him two more. The goblin demanded the whole jar, and the wise man said he may take as many as he liked. But when the goblin stuck his hand in the jar, he grabbed all the pickles and couldn't remove his fist. He got so mad that he stomped himself into pieces, leaving the hungry man with all the pickles he'd started with."

Her voice grew weaker as Cora's tugs grew fiercer, but when she reached the last line of the story, a white light pulsed around her body. Cora withdrew her hand as if burned.

"Who are you?" She cried, her hand beginning to redden and throb.

"I'm Emma," Emma replied. "And I'm the savior."

Her eyes wide, Cora lifted her uninjured hand and vanished in a cloud of purple smoke.

When they were sure that Cora was gone, Mulan and Aurora let Snow have her time with the two ten-year olds.

"Emma?" Snow asked quietly, reaching a tentative hand out to cup Emma's cheek. "Is that really you?"

Emma blushed, but pressed her palm against the hand holding her chin. "Yeah, Snow. It's really me."

"How did you-I mean, what did you...Oh, Emma," Snow babbled, wrapping her daughter in a tight hug.

When Snow released Emma, the girl looked at her feet guiltily. "I think we need to have a talk," she mumbled.

"I'm so confused," Henry added.

Snow furrowed her brow, finally taking in every piece of the situation. "Yeah, me too."

Emma followed her mother and brother to the grassy knoll where Aurora and Mulan had set up camp. The two women were preparing dinner together and talking, so Emma went to a shady spot under a maple tree and waited for her family to join her.

"I'm not really sure where to start," she whispered, picking at a loose thread on her sweater. "I mean, I could start from where I left you, Snow, but then Henry would be confused. Or I could start from the beginning of my story with Henry, but then you'd be confused."

"Why don't you start by explaining how you got like this," Snow suggested.

Emma looked at Henry in apology. "This is gonna be really weird for you," she said.

"At this point, weird is pretty normal," he answered, placing a comforting hand on Emma's knee.

"Okay, so, I wasn't always this age," Emma told him. "Once upon a time, I was her age."

"And," Snow began, then paused awkwardly, unsure if she should've said anything at all.

"And...your mother," Emma finished uncomfortably.

Henry's eyes widened, but he didn't say anything.

"Wait," Snow interrupted, wheels turning in her head. "You _were_?"

"I guess I should've done introductions first," Emma muttered. "Snow, meet Henry, my brother."

"What?" Snow asked, flabbergasted.

"In this new universe, Henry and I are twins. You're our mom, and Charming is our dad."

"Okay..." Snow was pretty much speechless.

"Can I just get this story over with?" Emma asked.

"Yes, of course. I'm sorry," Snow apologized. She pulled Henry a little closer to her, feeling like he might feel unwanted by her. He rested his head on her shoulder, and she smiled in relief.

"Okay, so I ran away from you, and somehow ended up in Rapunzel's tower. She tried to fix my ankle-"

"Fix it?" Snow asked. "What happened to it?" She reached a hand out to Emma's foot, searching for injury.

"Snow, I'm fine!" Emma moaned. "I twisted it, but that was a long time ago. Anyway, she sang this song about turning back time and fixing what was lost or finding what was broken, I don't remember, and I ended up in Hartford, at the foster home I was in when I was ten, the first time. I found my way to Storybrooke, met you, met Henry, and then remembered everything that had happened in my first life. Henry helped me believe, again, but then I got put under the sleeping curse, you woke me up, and then Henry and I ended up here."

"How exactly did you end up here?" Snow asked.

"Well, we went out exploring, and the well in the forest was bubbling, and we looked closer, and-_ow_!" Henry winced, rubbing his knee cap. "What was that for?"

"Shut up!" Emma hissed.

"And where, exactly, were your parents while all this was happening?" Snow asked sternly, focusing her glare on Henry, as she knew that he'd likely cave first.

"Um, they were in a town meeting," he answered. "But it's not like we were _trying _to end up here," he reasoned. "We were just trying to figure out why there were earthquakes."

"Henry!" Emma groaned. _'__Sometimes __you __can __be __such __a __doofus__,'_ she thought to him.

"Hey!" He said with a pout. "I'm not either!"

"You're not either what?" Snow asked, confused at the half-silent argument taking place.

"She called me a doofus!" Henry whined.

"It's not my fault you invaded my mind!" Emma shot back.

"Hey!" Snow shouted. "What is going on?"

"Henry can read minds," Emma said.

"And Emma thought mean things to me," Henry tattled.

"The both of you are on pretty thin ice with me right now," Snow warned, "so I wouldn't push it."

"Yes, ma'am," they muttered. Henry pinched his sister's elbow, and Emma whacked her brother's leg.

"Enough!" Snow ordered. Both kids stuffed their hands between their knees.

Snow sat between the twins at dinner, to keep them from picking at each other. Aurora giggled quietly at the looks they shot each other across their mother, and Mulan tried hard to keep a smile from forming on her lips.

"Mulan, what is our next move?" Snow deferred to the warrior.

"Well, that depends. We don't know where Cora's hideout is, though I don't think it prudent to try and defeat her again, so soon after our latest stalemate. So perhaps we should regroup, and try to figure out another way to get you home. The three of you," she said, nodding at Henry and Emma.

"We can't _leave_," Henry said, looking between Snow and Mulan. "This is where the final battle will begin!"

Snow frowned. "But what about Charming? What about your mother, Henry?"

"We could get them all to come here," Emma suggested.

"What's here for them to come to? And how would they get here?"

"Like Henry said, the final battle will take place here," Emma responded. "It said something about that in the book - I can't remember what, exactly, but it was there! And don't you have your home here? You don't wanna stay in Storybrooke forever, do you?"

"Well, no," Snow answered honestly, after a moment of pause. "But there's so much work to be done, and the ogres..."

"Will all be taken care of in the battle," Emma assured her. "As for the work, well...Leroy and the boys can do a lot of it, right? And Marco, and..." Emma bit her lip, remembering something. "Snow?"

"Yes, Emma?"

"Was Lancelot your only friend from the Round Table?"

Snow furrowed her brow. "Well, no, actually...but I suppose Cora must've...well, when she defeated Lancelot."

Emma shook her head, slowly. "I don't think he's dead."

Snow sniffed. "Emma, I-"

"Henry," Emma said, ignoring Snow's protest. "Did Cora look young, to you?"

Henry wrinkled his nose in disgust. "No, she looked ancient! Gray hair, crow's feet...she was awful!"

Emma smiled. "That's what I saw, too."

Snow opened her mouth. "She-"

"I think it's a glamour," Emma said, cutting Snow off again. "Just like the one she used to pose as Lancelot. Only this time, I could see through it - literally."

"But what does that have to do with Lancelot being alive?" Mulan asked, getting frustrated at the runaround.

"It's impossible for her to actually change her appearance," Henry said, his eyes lighting up in understanding.

"Exactly!" Emma cried, beaming at her brother. "If she could de-age herself for good, she would've done it already. But instead, she has to use a glamour." Emma looked at Snow, then Aurora, then Mulan, hoping to see a glint of acknowledgement in their eyes. She got nothing. "Grownups," she muttered with a sigh.

"I think I got it, sis," Henry said. "Okay, so. Cora exists on this plane as an old lady, so she can't physically change her appearance - she has to use a glamour, or a mask. Using that information, it would be safe to assume that she could only use someone _else_ as a mask if they, too, existed on this plane."

"Because," Emma continued, picking up where her brother left off, "Young Cora did exist on this plane, at one point. She doesn't exist now, which is why the glamour can't be permanent. Lancelot must exist on this plane in _some_ form in order for Cora to be able to use him as a mask, because otherwise there would be nothing to draw his energy from."

"I think I get it," Aurora mused. "But she hasn't used a Lancelot glamour since we tricked her at the castle."

Emma bit her lip. "Would you buy that I have a good feeling about this?"

Snow nodded immediately. "Of course."

Aurora was swayed soon after, but Mulan was harder to convince.

"That's okay," Emma said with a shrug. "We just need to find them."

"Well, Camelot was destroyed, just like everything else in the Enchanted Forest," Snow said sadly. "So they can't be there."

"Didn't King Arthur have another home?" Henry asked.

"Well, Avalon, but-"

"There was an island, legend tells, that was not affected by the Dark Curse," Aurora said. "My fairy godmothers used to tell me stories of it when I was a girl. Bits and pieces of the Forest remained untouched, some say by an even darker magic than the Evil Queen's."

"Did they ever tell you how to find it?" Henry asked excitedly.

"Well, no," Aurora said with a frown.

"That's okay," Snow said thoughtfully. "I know someone who does."

* * *

The group bid their goodbyes and thanks to the Lady Elaine, and stepped off the boat onto the rocky shores of the Apple Island. Snow stretched and looked around, her children coming to stand beside her, and her friends keeping a bit of distance from the little family.

"The castle should be through this orchard," Snow said, pointing to a grove of apple trees. She wrinkled her nose slightly at the offensive fruit, but forged ahead, Emma and Henry following close behind, followed by Aurora, and Mulan holding up the rear.

They walked for what seemed hours before breaking through the wood on the other side. Henry and Emma marveled at the marble and stone structure, even more massive and grand than they had imagined.

"It doesn't look like anyone's been here for decades," Mulan said, a note of disdain in her voice.

"Almost thirty years?" Snow mocked. "That's what happens when you're cursed."

Mulan shut her mouth, and followed the Queen silently as she led the group up the drawbridge.

They split off, Aurora and Mulan looking upstairs, and Snow and the children going down into the dungeons. Emma grabbed a torch and led the way, while Snow herded Henry along in front of her.

They peered in every cell, each dustier and emptier than the next. Snow was about to have them turn around and go back, but Henry leaned up against a wall and revealed a secret corridor. Each of the six cells were full.

"Snow? Snow White?" A deep, velvety voice called from the end of the row.

"Lancelot!" Snow yelled, grabbing a second torch off the wall and running to her friend. "I thought you were dead!"

"I have been gone a long time," he said sorrowfully. "But then, so have you! How did you get here?"

"It's a long story," Snow answered ruefully. "But Cora had been using your identity!"

"She's the one who locked us up here," Lancelot murmured.

"Could someone get us out?" An impatient, nasally voice called, rattling the bars of the cell to prove her point.

"Morgan," a stern voice sighed. "Don't bite the hand that frees you."

"Well, they haven't freed us yet!" She bit back.

"If you'll all just wait a moment, we'll get you out as soon as we can," Snow said calmly. "We just need to find the keys."

"Great," Morgan whined sarcastically. "We'll never get out of here."

'_Henry__,'_ Emma mind-whispered to her brother. _'__Did __it __say __anything __about __our __powers __in __the __book__?'_

Henry caught his sister's eye, and shook his head sadly.

'_Children__,'_ a deeper voice entered Henry and Emma's non-verbal conversation. _'__come __over __to __my __cell__.'_

Emma walked forward, stumbling towards the place where she'd heard that voice speak earlier.

"I'm Merlin," he introduced himself, when Henry and Emma finally stood before him. "I'm the resident warlock of the Round Table."

"I know who you are," the twins spoke together.

"Well, one thing you may not be aware of is that I am rather practiced at reading auras."

"What?" Emma asked, puzzled by the new word.

"Aura," Henry repeated. "It's like, this cloud that surrounds you all the time, and tells people if you're a good or bad person."

"Sounds pretty hippy-dippy, if you ask me," Emma grumbled.

"In magic," Merlin continued Henry's explanation, as if he hadn't heard Emma, "it also can show what powers a person possesses. I can already tell that you both are very strong, but if you give me a moment..." He paused, closing his eyes and mumbling under his breath. When he opened his eyes, they were glassed over, and appeared to look right through Henry and Emma.

"Oh," he whispered, pressing his palms together excitedly. "Oh, indeed!"

"What?" Emma asked, a bit freaked out by his actions.

He didn't answer, but began to rock back and forth on the balls of his feet. After a while, he snapped out of it, and stared at the twins in awe.

"Sun and moon," he whispered. "The prophecy is true!"

"What prophecy?" Emma asked him.

"The one in the book, Emma," Henry said. "The one about us!"

"_When __dark__'__s __curse __fails __and __lightness __rise__, __and __silver __and __gold __light __up __the __skies__, __the __two __babes __who __are __bound __as __one __shall __reign __once __more __as __moon __and __sun__._" Merlin quoted, still gazing at Emma and Henry as if they were the most wonderful beings he'd ever seen. "There's more, about the moon reflecting the sun, and a swan and a fox, but I'm not really sure what it all means," he explained.

Henry tugged the talisman from beneath his sweater. "My necklace has a fox on it," he said nervously. "And Emma's has a swan."

"That's how I got my name," Emma added.

"Well, it says something to the effect of the fox's fire burning and healing, and the swan freezing and flying," Merlin said, scrunching his eyebrows together to try and recall the verse he'd heard so long ago. "Let me see...ah, yes. _The __fox __hath __fire__, __bright __and __true__, __to __burn __through __wrong __and __health __renew__. __The __swan __hath __flight__, __to __flee __and __fight__, __and __ice__'__s __freeze __to __guard __the __night__._"

Emma and Henry shared a look, a bit confused by all those words. Merlin seemed to notice their discomfort, for he quickly elucidated. "I believe what it means is that you, Henry, have the power to create fire and to heal all manner of wounds, and that Emma has the ability to freeze things and to either fly or travel with ease. Your aurae are very bright," he continued. "Silver and gold. It would be my honor to train you in magic for your upcoming battle," he said, giving them a slight bow.

"Alright, Merlin," Snow said, not having heard the conversation. "Are you ready to be out?" Mulan and Aurora had come downstairs looking for Snow and the kids, and had heard the commotion in the secret corridor. They'd found the key ring on a rack upstairs, and brought it down with them. Everyone was free except Merlin, and Emma and Henry moved out of their mother's way so she could unlock his cell.

"Everyone, this is Lancelot, one of my very best friends," Snow announced proudly, dragging the tall, dark, and handsome man over to meet Mulan, Aurora, and her children. "The _real_ Lancelot," she amended. He bowed to them, and Henry and Mulan bowed back while Aurora and Emma bobbed curtsies, Emma's more tentative than Aurora's. "This is King Arthur," she introduced, presenting a tan, dark-haired man with icy blue eyes, "his wife Guinevere," she continued, gesturing to a freckled woman with tan skin and dark curls swept into a bun, "his sister Morgana," the blonde with the nasally whine and celery-green eyes curtsied stiffly, "and his advisor Dindrane." Another dark-haired woman curtsied, but her curls were loose, and her features were schooled in a much shyer expression than the Queen's. Her pale skin flushed slightly under the attention, and her honey-colored eyes stayed trained on the floor.

"And I see you've already met Merlin," Snow finished, wrapping her arms around her old friend as he walked out of his cell. In the brighter light, Emma and Henry could see that he had lighter skin, dark shoulder-length hair, and wide, dark, almond-shaped eyes.

"We've introduced ourselves," Merlin nodded, pulling back from the embrace.

"Dear Snow, do say that you and your company will stay in our palace?" Arthur offered, reaching his hand out to grasp hers.

"That's a very nice offer, Arthur, but-"

"I will not take no for an answer," Lancelot stepped up. "What have you been doing, sleeping in the forest?"

Snow flushed slightly and looked away.

"Then it's settled," Guinevere said. "We will have rooms prepared for you, and we'll dine together tonight."

* * *

"Lancelot, I mean it! I refuse to put my children in harm's way!" Emma and Henry stood at the top of the stairs, hanging over the banister and listening in on the meeting taking place in the hall below them. Snow was adamantly against them beginning any sort of training, and it was taking all of their combined willpower not to go down there and throw a double trouble tantrum.

"Snow, please," Guinevere tried to calm her friend.

"_No_, Gwen! I have lost them twice - I'm not about to lose them for good."

"I understand your concerns, Your Highness," Merlin's soft voice entered the fray. "But think of the danger they'll be in if they're not trained in their powers. Forget being unprepared for battle - they'll be veritable dangers to themselves and everyone around them!"

"They're not going into battle," Snow said fiercely.

Emma opened her mouth to protest, but Henry jabbed her thigh with his elbow. She'd changed into a borrowed nightgown, and it offered far less protection from her brother's bony joints than her thick jeans. She'd wanted to wear an outfit like Henry's, which consisted of knit leggings and a flannel tunic, but the thrilled look on her mother's face when she presented Emma with the frilly garment was enough for Emma to hold her tongue.

And that sent a spear of guilt through the girl's heart. She knew, in her old mind, that this Snow was particularly protective of her and Henry for a couple of reasons. One, she'd already lost Emma multiple times, as she'd said. This was her second chance at motherhood, and she wasn't about to let that go without a fight. Two, she had memories (as Emma herself did) of the last time Emma had been in battle in the Enchanted Forest - and how badly that had almost ended for them both. But Emma also felt, especially as a ten-year old, that she could handle anything if she was properly prepared. And there was a prophecy stating that she _had_to be the one to fight the final battle; she and Henry were the saviors.

"Think of the prophecy," Merlin went on, echoing Emma's most recent thoughts. "They're the ones who will defeat the curse - and Cora - for good. Wouldn't you like the Enchanted Forest to be safe for them?"

Snow sighed, and Emma could tell she was irritated and tired. "That's not fair, Merlin."

"Nor is it to prevent them from achieving their destiny," he countered.

"They're ten years old," Snow whispered, her voice breaking under the stress. "Please, try to understand."

"We do, dear," Gwen consoled. "But we also understand that they are born for this. And, I believe, they _want_ to do this."

"Why don't we ask them?" Merlin asked.

Emma and Henry looked at each other, frozen in place.

'_Do __you __think __he __knows __we__'__re __up __here__?'_ Henry's eyes were wide and panicked as he shot a message to his sister.

'_No__, __there__'__s __no __way__,'_ Emma thought, crossing her fingers behind her back.

"It's alright, children, you may come down now."

Merlin's voice jerked them from their thoughts, and Emma led the never-ending march down the stairs and into the wide foyer.

Neither child had to look up to know that their mother was glaring at them full force. Emma rolled her lips together, and Henry grabbed his elbows behind himself.

"Well?" Snow asked, when neither of them has said anything. "What do you have to say for yourselves?"

"We want to fight!" Emma blurted. She chanced a peek at her mother's face, and knew right away that she'd said exactly the wrong thing.

"Not a chance," Snow said firmly.

"But Snow," Henry said, nearly whining. "We _have_ to!"

"And you could train us, so you know we're safe," Emma added, trying to win her back over. "I've always wanted to learn archery."

Snow snorted.

"Please, Snow," Henry begged, making his eyes as big and sad as possible. "This is important."

"What's _important_ is you two being alive for your eleventh birthdays," Snow said, her voice heavy with worry.

"We will be!" Emma insisted. "We _will_ win. We just need your help to do it. Running from your problems doesn't help them any; it just makes them worse."

Snow turned fresh eyes on her daughter. She knew that the old Emma was inside her, somewhere, and that made the revelation all that more poignant. Her Emma would have never been able to see that running from your problems was a bad idea, and Snow's heart panged as she realized that this Emma was a result of that Emma running away.

"You're right," she finally said. "I suppose I should know by now that you can't cheat fate."

Henry and Emma grinned widely in victory.

"But you should know that there will be some ground rules!"

The children tried hard not to groan, and thus jeopardize their chances at maintaining this breakthrough.

"First of all, there will be no swordfighting. Period. I will teach you archery and royal etiquette, which I'll enlist Aurora and Gwen to help me with. Mulan and Lancelot may teach you the basics of the duel, but I want no practicals, understand?"

Emma and Henry squirmed under her harsh gaze, and finally nodded their assent. "Yes, ma'am."

"I suppose Merlin and Morgana will assist you with your magic, and Arthur and Dindrane can work with you on battle strategy."

"What about horses?" Henry piped up. "I've always wanted to ride a horse!"

"Well, that's more of your fath-Charming's territory," Snow said with a sad smile. "I'm sure he'd have my head if I let you go riding without him! But before you ride at all, you must get to know your horses. I'm sure getting you each a steed can be arranged."

"We have a stable here on Avalon," said Arthur. "Our ponies are only a few years old, due to the curse. I believe there were two foals born around the same time as you two - they could be perfect."

"Thank you, Arthur," Snow smiled. "But we can work out the logistics in the morning. You two," she said, turning a stern eye back on her kids, "had better be asleep when I come to check on you in about a half-hour, or you will be very sorry."

Emma gulped, knowing the implication there, and grabbed Henry's hand as she ran for the stairs. "Goodnight!" She called down behind them.

"Goodnight!" Chorused the Round Table.

* * *

"Very good, Henry!" Snow praised, patting her son on the back as he landed his second bullseye of the morning. He still missed occasionally, but they were coming fewer and further between, and most of his arrows landed in the red and yellow regions of the target.

Emma, on the other hand, had just tossed down her bow in frustration. Her target was peppered with arrows in the white and black rings, with a handful in the blue ring, two in the red, and none in the yellow dot in the middle. Her hands shook when she extended the string, her vision blurred when she loosed the arrow, and most of her quiver had been lost to the wood behind their targets.

"Emma, sweetheart," Snow murmured, rubbing her daughter's shoulders. "Try to relax, alright? You need to focus."

"I _am_ focusing!" Emma screeched, wanting anything but to be coddled and patronized.

"Hey!" Snow scolded lightly. "Don't speak to your mother that way. I'm trying to help you."

"Yeah? Well, you're not!" Emma kicked her bow aside, tossed a nasty glare at her mother, and ran off into the forest.

"Emma! Emma Swan, you get back here right now!" Snow yelled. "Henry, dear, go back to the castle, please. I'll go find your sister."

"Okay," Henry acquiesced, slightly annoyed at his twin's childish behavior. He picked up his bow, shouldered his quiver, and began the trek back to his current home.

They'd been training for a few weeks. Emma was progressing much further than Henry in their magic lessons, possessing a higher "start value" of raw magic to begin with. But he never complained about that! And it irked him that in archery, where he was doing better than she was (for once), she had to throw a fit and cut their lesson short. He kicked a pebble along in front of himself as he walked.

Strategy was fun enough, because Arthur and Dindrane were very good teachers. To Henry, it was sort of like playing a game - and it often was, because chess was a big part of their lessons. And though he wished they could joust for real, learning about fighting with Lancelot and Mulan was always pretty entertaining. Sometimes, they even did demonstrations for him and Emma. The most boring course, so far (though he'd never say this to Snow) was royal etiquette. He and Emma had to be on their very best behavior at all times, and learn how to walk and talk and eat and bow like kings and queens. Aurora and Gwen were nice enough, but Snow really laid into them when they messed around too much.

As Henry walked across the palace green and into the kitchen through the back door, he wondered why Emma had chosen today, of all days, to be such a big baby.

* * *

Emma didn't get too far before the stitch in her side and the tears in her eyes made it impossible for her to run any further. She forced herself to climb up the nearest tree, and counted the branches she hopped over to calm herself down. By the time she got as high as she could go, her sobs had subsided to a mere whimper every now and again.

She wiped her tears with the hem of her tunic, and rested her back against the scratchy bark of the apple tree. Hunger squeezed her innards, but she wasn't yet hungry enough to chance eating an apple.

"Emma?" She heard her mother call. Her voice was less angry, now, and a bit more worried. "Emma?"

Emma debated whether or not to call down, but the choice was made for her when she accidently knocked an apple off its twig and it landed by Snow's feet, causing her to look up. Her expression of confusion quickly changed to one of dismay, and she yelled up at her daughter.

"Emma Swan, you get down from there!"

Emma wanted to disobey, but she knew she was already in enough trouble, and decided she'd better not push it. Plus, she really was hungry, and knew it was nearly time for lunch. She began to descend, carefully testing her weight on each branch before stepping on it, but when she was about three-quarters of the way down, the limb she stood on snapped. Snow shrieked in horror, and caught Emma in her arms as the blonde tumbled about seven feet down. The impact caused Snow to fall backwards, and she rolled Emma off of her as she tried to regain her breath.

"Are you hurt?" Snow asked her daughter.

Emma shook her head no, having felt for any broken bones or sprains. Just to be sure, Snow checked her over again, and affirmed that she was alright.

Once sure that Emma was fine, Snow flipped the girl over her lap and peppered her behind with furious slaps. "How many times, Emma," she scolded, "must I tell you that you're not to run away from me or put yourself in harm's way? When will it finally sink in?"

"Ouch," Emma cried, the coral-colored linen and brown wool leggings doing little to protect her bottom from the barrage. "Please, Snow, don't! I've learned my lesson, please!"

"Really, young lady? Because I don't think you have! If you had, you would've tried to have a conversation with me, instead of throwing a tantrum like a toddler."

"I'm sorry!" Emma shouted, flinging her hand back to protect herself. "Please, no more!"

Snow gave her a final few swats, and turned her right-side up to rest on her lap. She cradled her daughter's head against her collarbone, running a soothing hand through Emma's unruly ringlets. "I wish you felt like you could express yourself without running from me," Snow whispered.

"I'm sorry, really I am," Emma promised.

"I know. But will you remember that next time? That's what I'm unsure of."

Emma opened her mouth to agree, but Snow placed a finger across her lips.

"Don't answer me yet. Just think about it, okay?"

Emma nodded into her mother's shoulder, and allowed herself to be placed on her feet. Snow dusted herself off, then her daughter, and grabbed Emma's hand to lead her back to the castle.

"You should apologize to your brother," Snow suggested. "I think you hurt his feelings when you got your archery lesson canceled."

"I just hate not being good at things," Emma muttered guiltily.

"Hey," Snow said, grabbing Emma's chin between her thumb and forefinger. "You listen to me. You _are_ good, and you will get better. I know it's hard for you to focus, and I know you've been having trouble controlling yourself. If you want, we can start having sessions, just the two of us, and we can work on getting you up to par with Henry."

"Okay," Emma said, not really believing her mother, but appreciating the sentiment all the same. "I'd like that."

"Good," Snow said with a smile.

Emma's stomach growled, and Snow laughed.

"I suppose it's time for lunch!" She grinned.

Emma smiled softly, still feeling a bit embarrassed, but better now that her mother was no longer mad at her.

"Let's go eat," Snow said, as they neared the castle. "And don't forget, you and Henry have your magic lesson this afternoon. I hear you're making some good progress?"

Emma grinned, then, a true and genuine smile. "Yep," she agreed. "Since we can't get ourselves to Storybrooke, we're bringing Storybrooke to us!"


	10. 9 - Soul To Steal

wow, okay. this monster kinda got away from me, and in doing so, i had to cut out the title piece of this chapter. so, the next chapter (the final chapter) will be another two parter, and then i'll do the epilogue. i promise, every bad thing will be matched by a good thing - you just have to trust me!

that's about it for this installment. i'm healing well, just a little sore, so i should be around more than had initially anticipated. here's hoping you like this one! xoxo!

* * *

_Emma was back in the mirrored room. She cringed, involuntarily, when she began to hear the dull roar of the angry, hateful words begin again. She was in the nightgown that Gwen had given her that first night, which she'd slept in ever since, and her bare feet felt tender on the hot metal floor._

_Hot? She frowned, kneeling down to brush her fingertips lightly across the surface. She pulled them back quickly, wincing at the uncomfortable sensation. She took a breath, remembering her training, and sent a wave of coolness down to her hands. The discomfort was over, and Emma cooled her feet as well so she could continue to keep them upon the floor._

_The words grew louder, but Emma could hear another sound, even more terrifying, coming from under her toes. There was a hiss, a loud crackle, and then a scream as the steel tiles beneath Emma gave way and sent her tumbling down into a smoky, flame-filled room._

_"Help!" Emma yelled, coughing as her lungs took in clouds of sooty black air. "Please, somebody help!"_

_"No one can help you now, dear," a smooth voice came from the fire. "You're all alone."_

_Emma wiped her eyes, and peered through the hot fog to make out Regina's features coming out of a particularly ferocious-looking flame._

_"Even if we could help, we wouldn't," another, even more familiar voice spoke. Emma didn't have to look to recognize this one at her mother's. "You've become quite a burden to us, Emma. You're angry, you're volatile, you're stubborn - what would you do in our position?"_

_"Your mother's right, Emma." The girl's heart dropped when she heard her father's voice. "It's hard enough taking care of one child, but two? How is that fair to us, Emma? We just found each other again - don't we deserve some peace? I always wanted a boy, anyhow."_

_"You ruin everything, Emma!" Emma turned, as if seeing the face in front of her would make the words anymore palatable. "I'm supposed to be your son, but now I'm your brother, and you even managed to ruin that for me! You always get in the way and make messes of things. Why can't you just be normal?"_

_Emma just couldn't help herself. Henry was the icing on the cake, and she could no longer hold back the hurt and fearful tears. "Why would you say that?" She wept._

_"All we wanted was a child to be proud of," Snow said sadly. "You couldn't even give us that."_

_"Goodbye, Emma," Charming said, pulling the flaming version of Henry along with him._

_"Wait!" Emma sobbed. "Wait, please don't go! Please, I'll be good, I'll do anything! Just please, don't go!"_

_"Emma," Henry said, with a shake of his head. "Emma."_

_"What?" Emma reached out for Henry, trying to grab his fiery hand._

_"Emma," he said again, with a little more force._

_"What?" This time, Emma was successful in grabbing her brother's hand, but pulled hers back immediately when she felt the burn._

_"Emma!" Henry yelled, but Emma could see him anymore. All she could see was darkness, and she yelled back._

_"Henry!"_

* * *

"Emma!" Henry shook his sister harshly, terribly afraid at this point. "Emma, please wake up!"

Emma sat up in bed so fast that she knocked her head into Henry's, and both kids grabbed their skulls in pain. "Henry," Emma said breathlessly, when they'd recovered.

"Emma, you wouldn't wake up," Henry cut in. "I was so scared!"

"Sorry," she said timidly. "You were there, and so were Ma-Snow and James, and your mom...it was really scary."

She looked down at her hand, which wasn't burned, but was slightly flushed.

"I'm sorry," Henry sympathized, wrapping his arms lightly around his shaken sister. He noticed her gaze. "Oh, I'm sorry. I must have overheated when I was trying to wake you," he said, looking away. "I really was scared."

"Sorry," she mumbled again embarrassedly. "And it's okay. But, um..." She quieted, blushing furiously.

"What?" Henry asked, sitting back on his heels to give her some space.

"Will you...sleep in here tonight?"

"I always sleep in here," he answered with a frown, gesturing to the bedroom they shared.

"Not here here," Emma said, motioning to the room at large. "I mean _here_ here," she muttered embarrassedly, pointing to her bed.

"Oh," Henry said nonchalantly. "Sure!" He was glad he'd brought his blanket over with him, because that way he could just crawl into bed next to his sister and fall asleep. He slipped in beside her, on the wall edge, and wrapped his blanket around Emma and his arm around his blanket. Emma bunched her blanket back up underneath her neck, and scooted back into Henry's embrace.

"Thank you, bubba," she whispered softly, the oft-unused nickname feeling thick and melancholy on her tongue.

"You're welcome, sis," he shot back, unaware of her sad feelings. "Goodnight."

"'Night," she agreed, closing her eyes and trying to fall back asleep.

Henry began to snore about five minutes after they snuggled up, and Emma knew she'd feel the lack of sleep in the morning, but she just couldn't seem to keep her eyes shut. Every time she tried, a sickening red image would pop up before her eyes, and she'd spook. Her muscles ached, and she wished she could rest, but sleep would not come until the nightmares stopped.

* * *

"Good morning, dearest," James whispered to his wife, waking her from her slumber.

Snow's eyes lit, as they always did, when she saw her husband. It happened with even more intensity now, because Snow had been away from her Charming for ever so long. "Good morning, Charming," she reciprocated the greeting.

Snow and James both were exponentially proud of their children for bringing Storybrooke back to the Enchanted Forest, even if there was nothing much to come back to. The dwarves, the fairies, and other assembled townspeople had volunteered to begin the forest clean-up - some were responsible for wildlife preservation and reintroduction; others for building renovation and renewal; and others still for basic, day-to-day needs. Graham - the Huntsman had chosen to keep his first "given" name - headed up the first sector, with Gepetto taking point on the second, and Granny Lucas running the third.

Admittedly, Snow had not had the easiest time adjusting to the readdition of the town into her life - which was, really, not her fault in the least. When the town came through, the Mary Margaret from 1993's Storybrooke and the Snow from 2012's Enchanted Forest had merged, leaving her with two sets of warring memories and a massive headache, which promptly knocked her out. When she came to, her husband was hovering over her worriedly and her kids were looking pale as ghosts. It had taken her a while to reassure them that everything was, in fact, fine.

But now, the kids were learning everything that Snow and James had ever wanted to teach them - including, reluctantly, swordsmanship - and her family was finally together again, and Snow couldn't wait for this whole thing to be over so she and her husband could have the jobs that they'd always wanted: the jobs of being parents to their children.

Speaking of, James cut into Snow's mind wanderings. "What lessons do our children have this morning?"

"Magic, strategy, and archery, you know that," Snow scolded teasingly.

"Well, if neither of us have to teach the first two, then we can just lay around in bed..." James suggested, waggling his eyebrows.

"James!" Snow acted offended at the very idea. "I have to teach archery."

"Oh, Mulan can do that."

"She's already doing strategy, today - Arthur has another obligation and Mulan said she'd fill in."

"What's one more?"

"She's got dueling after lunch."

"Well-"

"And the Round Table meeting this afternoon, James," Snow interrupted, before he could say anything else. "I can't ask her to cover for me."

"Well, what about one of the other instructors?"

"None of them are archers, Charming," Snow sighed, a bit exasperated. "I'm sorry, but I just don't think it'll work out."

"Then can I watch you practice?" James asked, giving Snow an exaggerated impression of their childrens' puppy dog eyes. "Pretty please?"

Snow guffawed. "Of course you may, Charming."

"Hooray!"

Snow giggled more at her husband's childlike antics, and rewarded him a little while longer for his agreeableness.

* * *

"We're going to shift our focus starting today," Merlin began, tapping his fingertips together and pacing back and forth in front of the kids. "For some time, now, we've been preoccupied with returning the people of the Enchanted Forest here. And now that we've accomplished that goal, I think it's imperative that we proceed to working on honing each of your special talents."

Merlin continued to speak, and Morgana, who had been preparing potions ingredients, swiveled on her stool to look at Emma and Henry. Henry's eyes were drooping, and Emma was slumped over against her brother, nearly sliding off their bench. Softly, Morgan cleared her throat, and both kids sat up straight.

Grinning slyly, Morgan pulled a face, with her pointer fingers stretching her mouth, her ring fingers pulling down her lower eyelids, and her tongue flapping out between her elongated lips. Henry and Emma tittered, but Merlin didn't even notice. So Morgan made another face, this time crossing her eyes, sticking her hands up behind her head, and curling her tongue out to touch the tip of her nose.

Henry giggled, and Emma laughed silently until she let out a loud snort. Merlin looked up, and both children snapped to attention.

"Have I missed something?" He asked, unfazed.

"No, sir," Henry said immediately.

Emma couldn't stop her grin, but she shook her head wildly.

"Well, that about sums it up," he muttered to himself, referring to his speech. "Let's get on with the lesson, then, shall we?"

Merlin told Morgan and Henry to go examine the potions materials, and he would work on finding Emma's other talent. They had already discovered that Henry could create fire - he could heat his body to burning without damage to himself, and could also char things by staring at them too long. Emma had ice as her element. She could cool her body down like Henry could warm his up, and she had been known to freeze Henry's water at the dinner table.

And though they'd soon discovered that Henry's second power was to heal, they were confused on Emma's second power. The prophecy had assisted in figuring out Henry's skill - "health renew" - but was leaving Merlin and Morgana baffled as to Emma's power. They knew it had something to do with flight, but they weren't exactly sure how that would happen.

"Okay, Emma," Merlin directed calmly. "Remember what we talked about? Close your eyes, block out everything but the sound of my voice. Even out your breathing, and let go," he coached, watching as Emma's eyes shut and her chest rose and fell in time with a slow, silent beat.

Emma let herself drift into the oblivion. She was one girl, floating aimlessly in an endless black space. Merlin's voice grew softer, but it was still there.

"Can you imagine yourself flying?"

Emma saw herself sprout wings, and she flapped them experimentally. She didn't move. She flapped them harder, trying to cut through the air with her hands, but it was as if she was tethered to an unseen pole, and she'd reached the end of her lead.

Emma hated feeling stuck. She had been trapped too many times in her life to be comfortable with this lack of motion.

Suddenly, Emma's mind blanked, and she was no longer floating around in space. Instead, she was back in Cleveland, and she couldn't breathe from the weight of the man lying on top of her.

_"You're a bad seed, Swan!" Mr. Buskirk hissed. Though Emma's face was pressed into the sheets, she could smell the acrid reek of his pork rind and beer breath. "You're an ungrateful little brat!"_

_At first, when Emma had come to stay with the Buskirks, she'd tried to deny Mr. Buskirk's claims about her bad behavior. But, even at seven, she was able to learn fast that it was easier on everyone to keep her mouth shut, and let him rant at her. It always made the punishments somewhat easier to bear._

_Mr. Buskirk had a beefy forearm on Emma's back, keeping the scrawny blonde in place. His other arm was in the air, and Emma was thankful she'd heeded her foster sister's warning that morning to wear an extra pair of pants as she heard the leather belt swoosh through the air and crack down on her upturned rump. She bit down hard on the nearest pillow, but you could still hear a bit of her high-pitched scream._

_"Hurts, don't it?" Mr. Buskirk smirked. "Wish you were less of a gnat, now, don't ya?"_

_Emma had had enough. "I'm _not_ a gnat!" She yelled._

_"Don't you talk back, girl!" Mr. Buskirk snarled. "You know what? Get up!" He grabbed her bicep and hauled her over to the end of the bed. He pushed her over, shoving her face into the bedspread, and yanked her pants and underwear down around her ankles. Emma kicked and fought, but Mr. Buskirk was much bigger and stronger than she. He raised his belt again, only this time, the buckle was out. He brought it down, square into the center of Emma's back._

"No!" Emma whimpered, her eyes flying open. She took in a shaky breath when she saw Merlin looking down at her worriedly.

"Princess?" Merlin asked, putting a gentle hand on Emma's shoulder. When she flinched, he immediately took it back. "Sorry, Emma."

"I...um," Emma stuttered, not sure what to say. "What happened?"

"We were trying to see if you would be able to fly today. At first, you were doing splendidly, and then you began to shiver and then you opened your eyes, and you looked frightened. Shall I fetch your mother?" Merlin offered.

"No! I mean, no, thank you. I'm fine," Emma corrected, a bit embarrassed by her outburst.

"Your father, perhaps?"

"No, no, I don't want you to get anybody. Especially not my mother," Emma muttered the last part under her breath.

"Has something happened between the two of you?" Merlin asked softly, coming to sit beside Emma on the bench, in Henry's former spot.

Emma's face clouded. "I suppose you could say that."

"Would you like to discuss it? I don't think we're going to get any further in our lesson, today."

"I'd really rather not," Emma said. "I'm pretty tired, actually...do you think I could take a nap before my strategy lesson?"

Merlin looked into Emma's small face, noting the dark crescents under her eyes, and the lackluster pallor of her skin. "Of course, Emma," he said. "Should I let someone know to wake you?"

"If you could tell Henry I'll be up in our room, I'd appreciate it." Emma smiled at her friend. "Thanks, Merlin."

He patted her shoulder. "Any time."

Emma threw him another grin over her shoulder as she left the dungeons. Merlin sighed softly, when she was out of sight. He wished he could help his friends, but he was sure Snow had no idea that anything was wrong, and Emma certainly wasn't going to tell him. _'__Maybe __I__'__ll __get __Henry __to __mind__-__drop __on __his __sister__.'_

* * *

"Nice shot, Emma! Very well done!" Snow praised, rubbing her daughter's shoulder in excitement. Emma had hit her third bullseye in a row, and Snow was very impressed at the progress she'd made. But Emma shrugged her off, not saying a word, and Snow felt a heavy sadness cloak her heart as she walked back to where her husband sat, watching them.

"She's mad at me," Snow murmured, upset. "And I have no idea why. But she's been like that all week."

"I haven't really noticed anything," James replied with a frown. "But I doubt it's just you. Maybe she's just having a bad day?"

Snow knew that wasn't it, but didn't want to shut James down so quickly, so she shrugged. "Maybe," Snow lied.

Emma pulled back her bow, and fired another bullseye - this so centered that it split the tails of two arrows already in the center of the target.

"Wow, Em!" James whooped, running over to lift his daughter to his hip. "That was awesome!"

"Thanks," Emma said shyly, a faint pink coating her cheeks. She nestled her head into the crook between her father's neck and shoulder, and he placed a kiss on the crown of her hair. He shot a confused look at his wife, but Snow could tell he was thrilled at the contact, and she couldn't help but feel a little jealous. The old Emma basically hated Charming - she avoided him at all cost, because she'd loathed him as David, and never really got to know him as anything else. She never would've initiated a hug with her father, and certainly nothing like this.

Snow shook her childish feelings away, though, trying to feel happy for her husband that he got to experience this. She had many similar instances with Henry, but then she frowned to realize that he probably had, too. After all, that boy would hug anything without rabies.

"Put me down!" Emma's giggly shriek jolted Snow from her thoughts. "Papa, I've got to get back to practice!"

_Papa_. Snow grinned tearfully at her beaming husband, as he spun their daughter around once more. But she couldn't help the stab of malice, and then the tug of guilt, that tore at her insides and made her feel awful. _'__Why __couldn__'__t __that __be _me_?'_

"It's alright, Emma," Snow said finally, pulling her head out of that dark place. "Our lesson is almost over anyhow, and you've done very well today. You can go play with Papa."

"No!" Emma said, wriggling down out of James' grasp. "I _have_ to practice!"

She picked up her bow and quiver and stormed off, finding a target further away from them than before. This put her closer to Henry, and he shot her a look as she angrily loaded her bow and fired off arrow after arrow.

"Shit!" Emma yelped, when her bowstring snapped and launched back to sting her cheek. She pressed her hand to it, cursing once more when she looked at her fingers to find blood on them.

"Emma!" Snow scolded, hearing her daughter's language first. "That's not-oh, Emma, what happened?" She rushed over, and noticed the angry red line stretching from the apple of Emma's right cheek to the bottom of her lip.

"My bow snapped," she mumbled crossly.

"We should get a cool cloth on that, and maybe some ice," Snow reasoned, beginning to shepherd Emma back into the castle.

"That's okay, I got it," Emma said, picking her hand off her face and wiggling the fingers in Snow's direction. She shrugged the arm off her shoulders, and pressed her palm back against her face, sighing slightly at the coolness in contrast to the heat of the sting in her cheek.

"Emma, that's not sanitary," Snow said. "You've been in the dirt all morning!"

"They're my germs," Emma sassed.

Snow threw a pleading look at her husband, who jumped in. "Emma, let's go to the kitchen and clean you up, and then, when Doc gets home later, maybe he can take a look at it. Is that okay?"

Emma looked up at her father, a casual expression on her face. "Sure, Papa. Will you come with me?"

James frowned, then smiled at her. "Of course, baby."

Emma beamed, then, and reached her arms up. "Will you piggy-back me?"

James laughed, then turned around and squatted in front of her. Emma wrapped her arms around his neck, her legs around his torso, and laid her good cheek between his shoulderblades. "Ready!" She shouted.

"Here we go!" He called back to her, standing carefully so as not to jostle her, and then breaking into a slow jog, bouncing her up and down on his back. The sound of their laughter rang in Snow's ears, even when they'd gone so far inside she couldn't see them anymore.

"Snow?" Henry's voice startled her, and she flinched. "Are you alright?"

Snow pasted a smile on her face, and cupped his cheek warmly. "Yes, Henry. I'm fine."

Henry, not possessing the lie detector skills that his sister did, believed her. He grabbed her hand and dragged her inside, intent on being the first to lunch so he could actually get some food this time. "Well, hurry up, then!" He cried. "Ever since they got here, the kids have been eating all the food, because we're _always_ late to lunch! And I am gonna be the first one to eat today!"

Snow couldn't help but laugh at her son's eagerness and indignity. "Okay, Henry, I'm right behind you."

* * *

Lunch was a relatively civil affair, with the school children carrying most of the conversations, and Emma and Henry making polite chatter with their friends, but mostly keeping to themselves. Classes were currently being taught as normal, in some of the larger rooms of the castle, and the children all dined with the rest of the palace while the men and women worked in the Forest.

After lunch, Henry and Emma scurried off to the west courtyard, which got the most sun in the afternoon, and was the perfect place for their dueling lessons. Mulan and Lancelot were waiting for them, and each bowed to each other in greeting.

For the first few sessions, Emma and Henry had been put through their paces in swimming, birdie bat (the fairytale version of a cross between badminton and racquetball), and agility obstacle courses. They were told that footwork, coupled with proper aerobic preparation, is the cornerstone to a successful fighter. But after a while, Henry and Emma began to be expected to complete those activities on their own time, and their lessons were spent focusing on proper dueling techniques and stance.

They'd just started using wooden swords, carved by Gepetto, thanks to their father's insistence that theoretical training wouldn't hack it in battle. After a few demonstrations from the warriors, Emma and Henry found that it was their turn to fight.

"Okay, remember your feet," Lancelot warned, as Mulan called the match.

Emma lunged forward, but Henry shuffled back in time, lifting his sword up to block hers. Then he advanced, causing her to beat a hasty retreat. Quickly regaining her stride, though, Emma knocked Henry's sword off of hers and then made it turn sideways in his grasp, leaving his chest unprotected from the quarter-round tip of her weapon (which Snow had made Gepetto file).

"Think I'm gonna go down so easily, sister? Think again!" Henry huffed, cocking her sword with his and hopping forward to get her. Instead of getting back, Emma took advantage of Henry's awkward landing to get him off balance, which she achieved with a well-timed jab to his shoulder, and then strike quickly while he was disoriented. While he wobbled, trying to remain upright, his sword had swung out again, and Emma drove her sword home into the left side of his chest.

"And this one goes to Princess Emma!" Mulan announced, raising Emma's non-sword arm in the air. "Congratulations, Princess."

"Please, Mulan, don't call me Princess." Emma felt like she reminded the warrior of this at least four times a day, but it never quite seemed to sink in. Her hurt cheek stung from the exertion, and she rubbed it absentmindedly as she waited to be dismissed.

"Sorry, Emma." Mulan said stiffly, turning next to Henry. "Henry, this is why your footwork is important," she sighed, annoyed.

"I'm sorry," Henry mumbled weakly.

"Lay off him, would you? He's doing his best," Emma cut in protectively.

"Emma, don't," Henry muttered. "It's fine."

Emma shrugged, a bit hurt at her brother's rejection, especially when she was just trying to help. _'__Maybe __he__'__s __mad __at __me__, __too__,'_ she thought miserably, picking up her stuff to put it back in the gear chest in the stables.

Henry heard his sister, but felt too upset himself to answer her. He wished he was better at things, but he didn't know how to get there. He'd be happy when they could just ride their horses in peace. Sammy always made him smile.

Their father was set to give them a riding lesson soon, so Henry followed his sister to the stables to clean and tack up his horse, Samson. They'd only begun riding in the last week, because while Snow had introduced them to their horses, and they'd been mucking their stalls and currying and feeding them for what felt like ages, they had really only gotten the go-ahead from the horses to ride them when Storybrooke came back to the forest. It was like they knew that someone was finally here who would teach the children well.

Emma had already mucked her horse, Livana's, stall when Henry got there, so she handed him the rake and headed into the tack room without a word. Emma grabbed Livvy's blanket, saddle, bit, and bridle, and went back into her stall. Putting the heavier items on the bench outside, Emma reached into the bucket hanging on the outer wall of Livvy's stall for a few tools, and then let herself into the horse's home.

Livana was a dappled filly, light gray with darker gray polka dots all over her body. Her mane and tail were a silvery white, and there was a white diamond on her muzzle, between her eyes. Sam, Henry's horse, was a golden-colored colt, and he had a mane and tail the color of buttermilk. Emma's saddle blanket was an ice blue, and her saddle and riding accessories were black leather with accents of silver metal. Henry's blanket was a rusty orange, and his riding gear was a chestnut brown leather with gold metal accents.

Emma pulled a lump of sugar that she'd swiped at lunch from her pocket, holding it out under Liv's nose. Livvy wiggled her lips around in Emma's palm, causing the girl to laugh, and finally finished eating. Emma wiped her hand on Livvy's blanket, and slipped her other hand into the curry brush and began to loosen dirt from Livvy's coat. Since Livana was still a pony, Emma didn't have as much ground to cover, and quickly finished currying and brushing Livvy. After picking her hooves and combing her mane, Emma slipped the blanket and saddle onto Livvy's back, first securing the saddle behind Livvy's forelegs, and then coaxing her pony into the bit and bridle. Emma clucked her approval when Livvy chomped down on the metal bar, and grabbed a stool before tossing the reins over Livvy's head.

Emma led Livvy out of the stall, holding tight to her reins with one hand and clutching the stool in the other. Henry was just coming back from the tack room, and paused to give his sister space to mount her horse. Emma nodded her thanks, placing the stool beside Livvy and kicking one leg across her back. Emma settled herself more comfortably, and then clicked her tongue to nudge Livvy out of the stables and into the pasture.

James had decided it was smarter to skip the stirrups step of horseback riding, since they'd be a danger in battle. He also had much better experience with riding posture and balance without stirrups than with them, and he'd developed a better relationship with his own horse, Noam, because of the more gentle feel of his foot to Noam's flank.

Emma guided Livvy from a walk to a trot, and led her quickly around the grassy area. She paused when James entered the paddock, but resumed her exercises when he went into the stables. She was getting better and better at her jumps, and she kept leading Livvy over, around, and back again through the course in the middle of the field.

"C'mon, Livvy, just once more through, and then we can walk again," Emma pleaded, trying to bring her horse through the course for a tenth time.

"Emma, she's tired," James said softly, reaching up to pat his daughter's leg. He'd rushed over there when he saw Livvy shying away from the jump, and he could tell right away that the baby horse was worn out. "Why don't you both take a break?"

"I've got to get this right," Emma argued.

"You've got to do this without injuring yourself," James warned. "Or, worse, your horse. Feel her, Emma - she's sweaty, and hot, and exhausted. She deserves a rest."

Emma reached down guiltily, feeling the damp, coarse hair beneath the saddle blanket. "Sorry, girl," she murmured, running a hand through Livvy's mane. "Alright," she said to her father, dismounting and pulling the reins back under Livvy's chin to lead her more easily. Back in the barn, Livvy nuzzled Emma with her nose, as if to say "Thanks." Emma kissed her, and began to clean her off.

* * *

After a much needed bath, Emma met Henry in the hall on their way to the drawing room for their etiquette lesson. Emma had tied her hair up in a topknot, just like Mulan had shown her how to do when they were sparring. She'd done it because her hair was still damp, and she wanted to keep it off her face and shoulders so her fresh tunic didn't get wet. Henry reached his arm out for her, and Emma scowled, though she knew he was supposed to do it. She kept her sour expression as she looped her arm underneath Henry's, placing her hand on top of his.

They entered into the lounge, Henry leading her to a seat at the table beside Gwen, before taking a seat himself beside Aurora. Emma bit back a grimace as Snow smiled, almost proudly. Emma hated feeling like she was doing something because someone wanted her to, and not because that's what she wanted or thought was right.

"That was lovely," Snow praised, looking at both her children. "I'm so pleased at your entrances. Quiet, but noticeable, and very proper and elegant."

Emma rolled her eyes, but Henry said a quick "Thank you."

"Alright, where did we leave off?" Snow asked. Henry chanced a glance at Emma, who'd lost her poise and slumped down in her chair. Her arms were crossed, and she did not appear as if she was going to provide an answer.

Snow had chosen to ignore the eye roll, but felt the need to correct Emma's seat. "Posture, Emma," she admonished lightly, walking around the table to tap Emma's shoulders so they touched the back of the chair. Grumbling, Emma slid up, but she kept her arms folded, and her elbows pressed defiantly against the tabletop.

Snow went back to the front of the room, and seemed to remember what she wanted to talk about, because she pulled a well-worn scroll from a box on the floor. She unrolled it, clipping it down to an easel beside her. The colors, though the parchment was faded, were still vibrant, and the image depicted was a many-ringed circle.

"Today, we're going to talk about rituals and customs," Snow announced. "I have here a chart of the festivals celebrated in our land."

"This is helpful," Emma muttered under her breath.

"Let's start with the winter holidays," Snow said, pretending not to hear Emma. "The first holiday is Yule, which is very similar to Christmas. It takes place on December the 21st, and there are a few traditions we use to celebrate. There is, as in the Christmas tradition, a ceremonial Yule log. This log is lit for the first time on Yule, and the remnant is kept for kindling on the next Yule, which symbolizes prosperity and protection the whole year long. Then, as with most of our festivals, there are banquets and gift-exchanges, similar to a Secret Santa. Each guest brings a small present, and puts them in a basket on their way into the feast. They are then pulled out randomly, and distributed amongst the guests. Finally, there is the joust, which takes place on Yule and also at Midsummer. The joust takes place between the Oak King and the Holly Queen."

Here, Snow unfurled two more posters and handed one each to Gwen and Aurora, who until now, had remained silent. Each woman looked at her illustration and reached down into the box that Snow had removed them from. When Gwen emerged from beneath the table, she wore a leafy wreath in her hair, dotted with acorns. There was also a braided false beard, made to look like wood, tied under her chin. She had also slipped on a robe made of sage green linen, which was held together with a belt of twisted gold rope.

Aurora had donned a wig, made of white hair that stretched to her hips. Atop that sat a tiara, but instead of metal and jewels, it was made of pointy holly leaves and adorned with bright red berries. She also had small deer antlers peeking out from beneath her hair, and a cape of cranberry velvet, trimmed and tied with silver cord.

"Wow," Henry marveled, amazed by the transformations. Emma was impressed, but held her tongue.

"Twice a year they fight for glory," Snow said, as if reciting a tale she knew by heart. "The Oak King reigns for Summer and Autumn, but when Winter's cold fingers cup the world, the Queen of Holly takes the throne. When Spring's beauty fades once more into Summer, the Oak King can regain his title. And so it goes, on and evermore."

"That's so cool!" Henry chirped excitedly.

Snow smiled at him. "I'm glad you think so, Henry. It's nice that you seem to take an interest in the customs of your birthright." She glared pointedly at Emma when she said that.

"Who wouldn't?" Henry asked, oblivious. "This is awesome!"

Emma continued to pout, and Snow decided to let her be.

They continued their discussion. Aurora and Gwen had removed their costumes and resumed their seats, and Snow kept on with explanations of the other holidays. Imbolc was next, which was the February 1st festival of new life, followed by the Spring. In Spring, there was Ostara (the Spring Equinox - March 21st - similar to Easter) and Beltane (a classic May Day celebration, complete with flower crowns and a Maypole). In Summer, there was, of course, Midsummer which was the summer equivalent of Yule. It took place on June 21st and was celebrated with picnics, plays, and carnival games. Then came Lammas, the bridge between Summer and Autumn, and took place on August 1st. It served as the harvest festival, with a Mardi Gras-esque cake honoring the gods (if you received a gold coin or a god or goddess figurine in your slice, you were especially blessed with good crops in the next growing season).

In the fall came Mabon on September 21st, which was the autumnal equinox, celebrated with feasts similar to Thanksgiving, and then Samhain. Otherwise known as All Hallows' Eve, Samhain included the ceremonial hearth lighting, in which each family in the kingdom extinguished their home fireplaces and took a torch from the Royal Bonfire to relight their fires for the Winter; fortune telling, among other spooky games and activities; a masquerade ball; and a symbolic forgiveness of grievances, which came in the form of paper lanterns lit and released into the air.

As time passed, and Henry grew more and more enthused, Emma became surlier, and began to make more comments expressing her utter disdain for this lesson.

Snow had also wanted to talk about the celebrations traditional for royal birthdays, but Emma made it clear she'd had enough.

"Okay, teaching us about Halloween was bad enough, but you seriously wanna talk about our birthday parties? C'mon!" Emma sighed loudly, and Snow slammed her hand on the table.

"That is _enough_, Emma." Her voice was firm, and Emma shrank back in her seat, obviously startled. Snow softened, and her voice when she spoke next was more gentle. "I am tired of your attitude, do you understand?"

Emma nodded quickly, anxious to get the scolding over with.

"Now, when I dismiss Henry, you will stay behind, and will write 'I will not sass my mother' until this parchment is full." She held up a small scroll in her hand, letting it unroll onto the table. It was long, but certainly not unmanageable, and though Emma was a novice with quill and ink, Snow knew it wouldn't take her more than an hour.

Emma wished she could just disappear. It was one thing to be scolded, and scolded in front of her brother. Henry got scolded in front of her all the time, and vice versa. But Emma knew Aurora (and liked her well enough) and looked up to Gwen, and to be admonished and punished in front of them set her ears and cheeks on fire and made her fume with indignance.

Henry and the other women left soon after that, leaving mother and daughter alone. Snow silently placed parchment, ink, and quill in front of Emma, and gathered her satchel.

Snow stood, not wanted to offend the 28-year old inside Emma any more than she already had. She could tell Emma was upset, and she knew that nothing good would come of it if she sat there and monitored Emma while she completed her punishment. "I'll expect the finished scroll outside my bedchamber before supper, and if it isn't done, then you can plan to finish it up here with me tonight. Are we clear?"

"Yes," Emma muttered.

"I'm sorry, what was that?" Snow asked sweetly.

"Yes, ma'am," Emma said, still angry, but clearer.

"Good," Snow nodded. "I'll leave you to it, then."

Emma watched from the corner of her eye as her mother left the room. She started on her task as soon as she knew no one was watching, and though there were some rips and ink blots on the paper, Emma thought it looked pretty good for a first attempt.

But Emma was still angry, though if you'd asked her, she probably wouldn't quite know the cause. She was just _mad_. Mad at being spanked, mad at her nightmare; mad at everything. And the root cause, at least in her mind, was her mother. And so she formulated a plan to get back at her.

"Henry!" She yelled, running from her parents' room to the one she shared with her brother. "Henry! I need your help with something!"

* * *

"Wanna help me with my homework?" Emma asked Paige - Grace, she mentally corrected - as they came down to the banquet hall for the evening meal.

Grace shrugged. "Depends on what it is. I've got my own, you know," she teased.

"Oh, this is homework we can do at dinner," Emma said with a wink. "See, Henry and I have to practice our strategy skills, and we're waging a mock war. We're trying to do boys vs. girls, and whoever has the biggest army will probably win. Can you help?"

Grace shrugged. "Sure! But I don't know if the other girls will."

Emma smiled slyly. "I've got my ways."

By the time James called for supper to begin, Emma's army of nineteen girls was ready to face off against Henry's army of sixteen boys. Altogether, they had twenty and seventeen respectively. As a courtesy, Emma let Henry fire first.

"Forward, march!" Henry called, rallying his troops. Each of the boys readied a spoon with a brussel sprout, prepared to take aim when their general commanded.

The boys had taken a very Norse approach to the battle, choosing only to push their cups together to form a sort of barrier to attack, and then assembling all their ammo to fire at once. Henry normally favored the Roman strategies, and thought Emma would be thrown off by his sudden change.

Emma, on the other hand, normally went for the all-out tactics of the Vikings, and thought Henry would be surprised by her choosing to follow a Roman idea. She'd split her soldiers into three groups of ten - the first wave would be in charge of cracking the barrier, the second in charge of occupying Henry's forces, and the third (of which Emma was a crucial part) was to be in charge of conquering his remaining resources and, ultimately, winning the battle.

Emma quietly signaled for her girls to load their forks with mashed potato lumps (as forks were springier), their spoons with cubes of squash and meat, and the metal straws they'd filched (the adults used them for drinking mead) with peas.

"Aim, fire!" Henry cried. All seventeen boys launched their sprouts and asparagus spears, tossing them over the girls' makeshift wall, and, inadvertently, playing right into their hand. All the girls who got hit by a flying vegetable took themselves out of the fight, but everyone else in the first tier took their spoon catapults and aimed them at the boys' side. Seven boys went down due to squash and/or beef injury. Then the second tier of girls fired off their makeshift pea shooters, causing eight more casualties. Only Henry and Pinocchio were left in the boys' camp, and Emma and the girls shared a triumphant look as they got their mashed potato bombs all set.

Half the remaining girls took the brussel sprouts they'd recovered from the boys' attack and put them on their now-empty spoons. The other half took their potato-covered forks and the forks of the otherwise occupied girls. Emma called all her girls to order, and they fired off their bombs in rounds.

Emma smiled slightly at the terrified looks on the faces of both boys after the first round of bombs. Henry had deflected a potato projectile with his knife, but a bit of shrapnel now decorated his formerly-red tunic. Pinocchio had fallen, and was in the process of ducking under the table. Emma was so preoccupied with the finale she was preparing, that she didn't notice someone take a spot behind Henry.

"Ready, girls?" Emma didn't wait for a response, and just lobbed her last mashed missile at her brother. But there was an intake of breath next to her, and Emma looked to her left before looking up, into the stern and now-goateed face of her mother.

Emma gulped quietly as Snow's face turned even more sour. Her mashed potato beard slowly fell off her chin and to the floor, but that didn't change her expression at all.

"You," she said with conviction, her voice low and dangerous with fury. She pointed at Emma, and then pointed at Henry as she said "And you. Go to your chamber, _now_."

Henry got up first, but it took Emma another glare from Snow to send her chasing after her brother. When she reached their room, he turned on her.

"I can't believe I listened to you!" Henry yelled, pacing back and forth in front of his bed.

"Me? You were totally into this idea until Snow got mad!"

"But it was still your idea," he countered. "Why do we always follow you? You have the worst plans! And nothing ever turns out okay! You ruin our lessons, you get us both in trouble-"

"Hey! That's not fair! Back home, you were responsible for just as many bad ideas as I was!"

Henry turned to her, face a mask of disgust. "Yeah, well, ever since we got here, you've been getting meaner and meaner. I should've listened to my mom," he muttered.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Emma was near tears, but if Henry noticed, he didn't care.

"It means, I shouldn't have gotten involved with you! You're nothing but trouble!"

Emma was about to retort, her hurt making her vicious, but that's when Snow walked in. She noticed the body language of her children, and went to Emma first.

"Wait here," she said, firmly but not unkindly. She pushed Emma gently down onto her bed, and walked across the room to Henry.

"You first, Henry," Snow said, placing Henry before her as she sat on his bed. "Now, I don't know who's idea this was, but I don't really care. I do know that you have been paying attention to me during your lessons, and I know that you know better than to start a food fight during supper."

She continued to lecture as she hauled him over her lap, but though Henry protested loudly, Emma barely heard them at all.

It was an all-too familiar scene; parent comes in to punish, not caring who was responsible for the "crime" and not caring about hurting the child. Just doing whatever they wanted to, and leaving pain and destruction in their wake.

Emma shook, and began to shut down. Henry's spanking, though only minutes long, seemed at once transient and eternal. Emma curled into herself, feeling a headache and stomachache coming on at the bad memories.

Henry apologized profusely, accepting blame and feeling awful for yelling at his sister. Snow kissed him, and reassured him that he'd get his chance to make amends when she had punished Emma.

Snow, for her part, was nervous about spanking Emma again. She had, now, memories of Emma's multiple bad reactions to Mary Margaret's punishment in Storybrooke, but she also had Emma's not-terrible reaction the week prior in the wood. She was confused, and wasn't at all sure that she was doing the right thing. However, she knew from the parenting books she'd read on the sly as Emma's guardian in Storybrooke that consistency was one of the most important factors in separating the good parent/child relationships from the bad ones, especially in the case of step- or fostered children. So Snow steeled herself for what she was about to do.

"Emma, listen to me," Snow said, tapping Emma's thigh to make her sit up. Snow saw her daughter shift, and figured that was as good as anything. "I am disappointed in your actions, but once you're punished, the slate will be clean. All will be forgiven, I promise. So let's just get this over with, alright?"

Emma had raised her eyes to Snow's, but unlike her mother's, Emma's eyes were blank. Emma's mind was full of bad visions, and she did not see her mother before her. Instead, she saw a ghost of her past.

_Eight-year old Emma shivered in the cold morning air. Mr. Robinson had awoken to find his favorite cereal finished, and so the entire household had been roused for punishment._

_Emma thought he'd probably eaten the rest of the Corn Pops when he'd come home twisted the night before, but didn't have near enough nerve to say anything. She crossed her arms in front of herself, and looked up and down the line._

_Her foster brothers and sisters stood in age order, from twelve to four. There was Toby and Larissa and Eric and Emma, and then Benji and Molly and little Violet. They were all nude, and they ranged in moods from more embarrassed than scared to terrified and only slightly embarrassed._

_Mrs. Robinson, their foster mother, had woken them all up that morning, at the crack of five AM._

_"I don't care if you did it or not," she warned every time. That morning, she said. "Mr. Robinson knows one of you finished his cereal, so he's asking for y'all to get into the living room. You know what to do."_

_Emma was too tired to argue. She got out of bed, stripped off her oversized t-shirt and underwear, and marched awkwardly into the communal space to await the group belting._

Emma wanted desperately to get away. She would give anything to be anywhere but in Chicago with the Robinsons, again. She imagined being safe, safe from another beating and more neglect. Feelings rushed through her, the foremost being the need to escape. And in the span of a millisecond, Emma had vanished.

"Emma? Emma!" Snow called for her daughter, willing her to appear in vain.

She didn't know how her daughter had disappeared, but she hoped that Merlin would know what to do.

"Henry, stay put. I'll be back as soon as I can," Snow said, trying to remain calm.

Henry nodded, frozen to his spot. He watched the place where Emma had been as he listened to his mother leave the room and race downstairs.

* * *

Emma was still shaking and hyperventilating when she landed in this new place, completely unaware of the change in location. But someone else did notice her presence in the room.

"What the-Emma?" Morgan le Fay was totally shocked by the appearance of her mentee on her bed. "Emma, how did you get here?"

Morgana was pretty unnerved, but what disturbed her even more was the fact that Emma was barely breathing, save the occasional whimper.

"Emma, hey," Morgan nudged Emma, trying to jolt her from whatever mind trap was holding her hostage.

"Please don't hit," Emma cried. "Please!"

"Emma!" Morgan said sharply, shaking the girl in front of her. Finally, she grabbed a bit of powder that she and Henry had worked on earlier and blew it in Emma's face. It was an attempt at a cure to the sleeping curse, and Morgan was completely unsure if it would work or not. She held her breath, and let her shoulders slump when Emma's eyes remained glassy.

"M-Morgan?" Emma whispered, reaching out to touch her, as if afraid she wasn't real. When her finger met flesh, she jumped. "What the hell am I doing here?"

"I was trying to ask you the same thing," the blunt blonde replied. "Do you remember anything about what happened?"

"There was...the food fight, at dinner," Emma said slowly. "Then...Henry, we fought, and Snow hit him. And then..." Emma tilted her head in confusion. "I was in Chicago?"

Morgan had no idea where or what Chicago was (though she assumed it was a place), but she knew that the town where Snow and her kids had come from was called Storybrooke. And from what Emma said next, she knew it couldn't have been real.

"And I was eight again...and then, I saw you."

Morgan was more than a little terrified, but tried her best not to show it. She wasn't quite sure why she was feeling so protective of Emma, but the girl reminded her a lot of herself - nervous, but abrasive, and equal parts amazed by and afraid of her magical potential.

Morgan opened her mouth to ask Emma some more questions, but she heard a frantic knocking noise down the hall. She'd heard Merlin take a visitor about an hour prior, and hadn't heard him bid them goodbye, so knew that he wouldn't answer whomever was calling on him at the moment.

"Stay right there," she told Emma, and went out to berate the noisy pest in the corridor.

"Merlin's with a guest," Morgan said sharply, sticking her head out in the hall. Her eyes widened when she realized who was there, and quickly stepped out, shutting the door behind her. "Your Highness," she said, curtsying slightly.

"Morgana," Snow answered, breathless. "Have you seen Merlin?" She asked, apparently not having heard Morgan's previous words.

"Last I was aware, he had received a visitor. But I think you should come inside with me," Morgan said, opening her door to usher in the Queen.

Confused but acquiescent, Snow preceded Morgan inside her suite, and then proceeded to scream and hug her daughter.

"Oh, Emma, what happened?" Snow asked, kissing the girl once more and hugging her close to her chest.

"I don't know," Emma murmured. "I'm sorry."

"Oh, sweetheart, you have nothing to be sorry for," Snow said, rubbing the smooth skin above Emma's eyebrows as if to free it from wrinkles.

"What exactly happened, Snow?" Morgan asked.

"She just...went poof!"

"I remember...wanting to feel safe," Emma said, so quietly that the two women could barely hear her.

"Oh, Emma," Snow said, the words like daggers in her heart.

"I was scared," Emma continued. "But not of you, though I guess you brought it on. It was...a memory, of Chicago. Mr. Robinson."

Snow searched her memory banks for a mention of a Mr. Robinson. She hearkened back to the first time she'd tried corporal punishment on Emma, and gasped. "Oh, baby," she whispered, cradling Emma against her chest. "I'm so sorry. It was Henry, wasn't it?"

Emma nodded. "I think that's part of what made me think of it."

"I'm so sorry about tonight, and about the woods. We'll find another way, okay? We'll find another way."

Emma nodded into her mother's chest, reveling in the comfort she'd denied herself this past week.

"I still want to know what happened, though," Snow said, looking questioningly at Morgan, who had been feverishly flipping through a dusty tome during the reunion.

"I believe Emma has the ability to travel seamlessly between where she is and where she would like to be," Morgan said, almost in awe. "That would account for the fact that we cannot figure out how she could possibly fly."

"You mean, I can teleport?" Emma asked.

"Teleport," Morgan repeated, feeling the strange word out in her mouth. "I suppose that could be the...technical term for it. I will have to confer with Merlin about the exact details, but I think it's safe to say that we've finally solved this mystery."

Emma yawned, and Snow shared a look with Morgan. "Alright, little miss," Snow said softly. "I believe it's time for bed."

"What about my punishment?" Emma asked, stifling another yawn.

"I think we can figure something out tomorrow," Snow answered. "Tonight, I would be remiss if I didn't put you to bed. I think you've had enough excitement for one night."

"Okay, Mama," Emma sighed.

Snow's eyes filled with tears as Emma fell asleep on her shoulder. Snow mustered all of her strength, and lifted Emma into her arms.

"We'll see you tomorrow?" She asked Morgan quietly.

"Goodnight, Snow," Morgan answered. "I'll let Merlin know when I see him."

Snow nodded, and let herself out of the room. When she finally reached Henry and Emma's bedchamber, her son was asleep in his clothes. She undressed Emma and tucked her in, and then did the same with Henry. As she stood in the doorway and watched her children sleep, she marveled at how it could've been.

"I love you," she murmured. Then she blew out the candles and shut the door behind her.


	11. 10a - Hard Way Home

the final battle has begun! i need to stop jinxing myself, apparently, because when i say i won't be around i am, and when i say i will be around i'm not. oops! sorry for the wait, y'all. this is the first part of the two part finale, and then i'll write an epilogue (because epilogues are awesome). i know i say that every chapter, but i just wanna make sure everyone knows what the deal is.

love and light, guys - i don't know when the next part will be up, but hopefully soonish. xoxo!

* * *

**THE ****SUN****, ****WISE ****HE****, ****WITH ****SHINING ****LIGHT****  
****SHALL ****BRIGHTEN ****UP ****THE ****MOON****'****S ****DARK ****NIGHT****  
****FOR ****MOON ****SHAN****'****T ****SHINE ****WITHOUT ****HER ****SUN****  
****TO ****REFLECT ****A ****GLOW ****ON ****EVERYONE**

**THE ****FOX ****HATH ****FIRE****, ****BRIGHT ****AND ****TRUE****,  
****TO ****BURN ****THROUGH ****WRONG ****AND ****HEALTH ****RENEW****  
****THE ****SWAN ****HATH ****FLIGHT****, ****TO ****FLEE ****AND ****FIGHT****,  
****AND ****ICE****'****S ****FREEZE ****TO ****GUARD ****THE ****NIGHT**

**WHEN ****SILVER ****AND ****GOLD ****MAY ****JOIN ****ONCE ****MORE****  
****THEIR ****AGES ****EQUAL ****ONE ****WHOLE ****SCORE****  
****AND ****GOOD ****SHALL ****TRIUMPH ****O****'****ER ****EVIL****'****S ****DOOM****  
****AND ****REIGN ****THEY ****SHALL****, ****THE ****SUN ****AND ****MOON****.**

* * *

Merlin threw his hand towards the door, a shot of lilac magic creating a soundproof barrier to silence the persistent knocking.

"Now, Regina," he said, his willowy digits creating a tent on his lap. "You are aware of how dangerous what you're suggesting could be?"

The formerly evil Queen nodded, her severe features looking softer in the shadowy glow of candlelight. "I would do anything to save my son. Even if that means self-sacrifice."

Regina had requested a meeting with Merlin earlier that evening. She and Rumpelstiltskin had been locked up upon their arrival in the Forest - Rumpelstiltskin, because he was deemed a threat; Regina, because she was deemed in danger. Rumple had been taken back to his former home in the dungeon of the Charmings' castle, but Regina had been kept on Avalon so that Henry could see her whenever he wanted.

It had all begun that afternoon. Rumpelstiltskin, in an utter breach of character, had requested an invitation to the meeting of the Round Table. He had signed a contract promising to return to his cell afterwards, if he was granted immunity and safe passage to and from Avalon.

_"I call this meeting of the Round Table to order,"James said, rapping his ale mug on the mahogany surface. "Welcome, all. It is wonderful to be back in our home with all of my old friends."_

_Seated around the table were the leaders of each of the Seven, or the seven allied kingdoms that had, initially, joined forces to defeat Regina. The rulers were as follows: Queen Snow and King Charming, of course, of the Enchanted Forest; King Arthur and Queen Guinevere of Camelot; Dame Belle of Avonlea, who was joined by her beau, Rumpelstiltskin; Princess Aurora of Briarmoor, joined by her faithful warrior Mulan; King Thomas and Queen Ella of Luaith; Princess Abigail and Prince Frederick of Orvale; and Princesses Ozma and Dorothy of Oz. In addition, there was the former Queen, Regina, Sir Lancelot, Merlin, and the Blue Fairy._

_"As you all are aware," James continued, "we are nearing the end. It has been nearly a fortnight since our last encounter with Cora, and she is not one to wait to strike until we are ready. As such, we must be ready at any time. Snow and I, along with Arthur and Gwen, felt it imperative to hold this meeting now so we could ask for guidance on how to defeat Cora."_

_"If I may," Blue began shyly. James nodded, and she sat up a bit straighter. Though back in the Forest, she and her sisters had not returned to their more...petite (and winged) forms. "Are the little Princess and Prince not meant to defeat Cora?"_

_"Surely, you do not believe that two children can defeat my mother all on their own?" Regina scoffed._

_James turned a glare on her. "Regina, if you do not plan to be civil-"_

_"My apologies," she said, bowing her head slightly. "But even if my son and his...sister are prophesied to have this omnipotence, my mother has practiced her magic for many years. She will always defeat her enemies, because no one person can surpass her power."_

_There was a disgruntled murmur that rippled through the group, and James wore out his palm trying to regain order. "Please!" He called above the noise. When all had settled, he calmed down. "I have faith enough in my children that I know they can conquer any and all evil," he proclaimed proudly. "We just have to figure out a strategy."_

_Regina smirked at the King's seeming naivete, but a soft, high-pitched giggle caused the room to fall silent. "I believe I have the answer you seek," Rumpelstiltskin purred._

_"What will it cost us?" James asked warily._

_"Am I unable to have pure intentions?" He countered._

_"It would be a first," Snow growled._

_"Careful, dearie," Rumple chided. "It will be your childrens' lives if you don't listen."_

_"How dare you?" Snow cried._

_"Snow!" James held his wife back, as she'd lunged across the table to grab the madman. "We made a deal."_

_"He's right, you know," Rumple grinned infuriatingly. "My advice for safety."_

_Snow scowled, and roughly shrugged James' hands off her shoulders, but kept her seat and held her tongue._

_Rumple drummed his long nails against the tabletop. "Regina is right. One person alone is not enough to stop Cora. Even together, your twins might not offer enough power. But if there were a way to channel their power together, and magnify it, it could have the ability not only to drain Cora of her magic, but also to destroy anything in its path."_

_"I'm not putting my children in danger," Snow said immediately._

_"Oh, they would not be," Rumple assured her. "True love is so pure that it could not attack the one who created it. It would, ideally, have the ability to remove all trace of evil from this world. Or, at least," he coughed, a bit nervously, "all evil in its general vicinity."_

_"What's the catch, imp?" James asked, still unsure if he could trust the man._

_"I wouldn't say _catch_, Your Highness," Rumple hedged, "but perhaps a...less-than-optimal hindrance. You see, there must be a...medium, of sorts, through which to channel the childrens' power. Were they to attempt to combine their magic themselves, they certainly would be gravely injured, if not killed."_

_"I'll do it," James and Snow spoke at once._

_"As...touching as that is," Rumple said, a faint simper curling his lips, "neither of you are able to do it. It must be a person who possesses magic of their own. Otherwise, the acute influx of magic into their system would cause them to immediately combust, without doing any damage to the enemy. A person with magic would also cause the magnification of the young ones' powers to be greater, because the magic of the vessel would seep into the magic of the twins."_

After Rumpelstiltskin's speech, there was much dismayed discussion. Many called for Rumpelstiltskin himself to act as the medium, but he outright refused. Blue said either she or another fairy would be happy to do it, but that was quickly shot down as fairies only recieved magic from their diamond dust. It was then that Merlin volunteered.

"I have had a happy life," he said. His voice shook, but it was nearly imperceptible. "It is time for me to step down as chief magical advisor to the King and Queen of Camelot, and let my mentee, Morgana, take over. And I would be honored to be used for such a worthy cause."

Though many protested, Merlin held his position, and the matter was considered settled. Many had seemingly forgotten that Regina had magic, as she hadn't used it since the Curse. And though the Queen remained silent, something inside her bubbled up, and demanded that she take action.

Which is how she ended up in Merlin's own bedchamber, making a case for why the sacrifice should be her.

"You have something tying you to this land," was the quiet utterance from between her maroon lips. "You have a purpose, and people who lo-_care_ for you. I have nothing."

"You have Henry."

"Henry is no longer mine, or at least, not mine alone. He has another family that can provide for him. He has a mother _and_ a father, and a sister, and legions of subjects who are all wholly devoted to him. I have not been the best mother to him, though gods know I've tried." Regina felt unbalanced, and was uncomfortable with the amount of personal information she was revealing, but her mouth was unstoppable. "I want him to have his best chance."

"And you believe that he will be able to get that if you are no longer a factor," Merlin stated.

Regina nodded.

"Are you sure about this?" He asked.

Regina sighed. "Yes. There is not a doubt in my mind."

Merlin stood, then, and released the spell on the door. "Then that's what we'll do." He allowed her passage, but stopped her with his words. "Thank you, Regina...for saving my life."

She turned to him, eyes blazing. "This isn't about you," she snapped.

A ghost of a smile painted his lips. "I know."

* * *

Emma poured a bowl of cool water over her head, the moisture making her hair stick to her neck and shoulders. She'd been up since dawn, having had yet another set of nightmares. Only, this time, the memories were interspersed with premonitions, or prophecies, or whatever they were. Her fingertips were becoming pruned, and she knew Henry would be up soon and would want to use the facilities, but she couldn't seem to drag herself from the wooden tub. Something about the monotony of pouring water down her back, having it run back into the tub, and dragging up another bowl to do it again was very soothing to her.

She pulled her fingers through the silky water, and flashbacks of her dreams assaulted her. There was so much blood. Bodies lay everywhere, the brown of the blood melding with the brown of the mud so that it was hard to tell at first who was dead and who was just dirty. Emma's stomach turned at the thought. There was a bright light, then, and a wretched shrieking noise. It was the first time Emma had actually heard something in a foresight, and she wished she hadn't, because even the memory was enough to send chills up her spine. Henry sobbed, on his knees, in a pool of blood. His face was smeared with it, too...or was it only dirt? Emma couldn't tell, and wasn't sure she wanted to.

Emma knew someone had died, but she didn't know who, and that petrified her. What if it had been one of their parents? What if it had been _her_?

Emma sighed, and thought it probably wouldn't be her he was crying over. After all, she'd ruined everything for him. She stood, suddenly, and wobbled on her legs unsteady from hours of being scrunched to her chest. But she quickly regained balance, and stepped from the tub to a rug of fluffy wool. She wrapped a robe around herself, and tied her damp hair into a bun. Then she slid her feet into her warm clog slippers, and slipped out of the bath chamber and down the hall stairs.

Emma felt relieved when she made it to the parlor without running into anyone. She grabbed a quilt from a handy basket, and cloaked herself in it as she curled herself up by the toasty hearth. She hummed a quiet tune to herself as she traced the intricate outlines of the carpet with her finger. Though she didn't recognize it, her eyelids drooped, and she was soon fast asleep before the fire.

It was much later in the morning when Emma was awoken by a set of loud footsteps. She jerked awake, but the quilt still made a hood over her head so she couldn't see.

"Sorry, I-" she began to sputter.

"No, it's alright," a soothing voice cut her off. "Go back to sleep, if you like - I promise I won't tell."

Emma pushed the blanket out of her eyes to see Gwen's freckled and smiling face.

"Oh, Emma!" She said, her voice getting higher in pleasure. "I thought it might have been a young servant girl or something. We've had many a maid fall asleep in front of the fire after a long night." She gave Emma a wink, but Emma just flushed.

The girl spotted the mug of tea in Gwen's hand, and noticed a second mug beside her. "Are you waiting for Arthur? I'm sorry, I'll leave you two alone," Emma said hastily, scooping up her makeshift cloak and trying to figure out the best place to hide out.

"No, please," Gwen said, stretching a hand to Emma's wrist. "He had to take a meeting with the Guard this morning. I'd love to have some company."

Shyly, Emma curled up on the sofa next to the Queen of Camelot. She tucked the quilt more tightly around herself, as she was beginning to shiver again. "What time is it?" She asked softly, wondering how long she'd been asleep.

"Oh, about half past eight."

Emma nodded. "Good. That means Henry's probably out of our room, so I'll have time to go up and dress before breakfast." She meant to say this mostly to herself, but Gwen heard her.

"Are you two in a fight?" Gwen asked, knowing the two were usually inseparable.

"Not exactly," Emma said. "But he is mad at me, and I don't wanna bother him more than I have to."

"Why would he be mad at you?"

Emma's face darkened. "A lot of reasons."

"Any one in particular?"

"Mostly 'cause he got in trouble for last night, even though it was my idea, and that he wished he'd never met me 'cause I'm trouble." Emma bit the inside of her cheek, afraid she'd said too much, but Gwen laid a gentle hand on her knee.

"Did he say that to you?"

Emma nodded slowly, and Gwen sighed. "I'm sure he didn't mean it, Emma. Henry loves you; you're his sister!"

Emma lifted up a shoulder and let it drop again, her mouth downturned sadly. "It's okay. I'm gonna go get ready, okay? I'll see you at breakfast."

Emma got up, quilt still wrapped around her, and went back upstairs to her room. She pushed open the door quickly, expecting the room to be empty, and so was surprised when she heard a gasp from the corner.

"Emma!" Henry said. "Where were you? I woke up, and you weren't here, and I thought..."

Emma stared at her brother in surprise. "You're talking to me?"

Henry frowned. "I'm really sorry about what I said last night, Em. I didn't mean it, and I know it was both our faults. I shouldn't have yelled at you."

Emma shrugged, wanting to hug him and punch him all at once. "You weren't wrong," she said carefully. "I am trouble, and I don't make good choices sometimes."

"But you're my sister," Henry said, looking her in the eye. His moody hazel warred with her robin's egg, and though Emma wanted to, she couldn't look away. "I love you."

Emma didn't feel like she wanted to punch him anymore. "I...um, you too." She choked out into his shoulder. Silently, she cursed her nervous tongue. He giggled awkwardly, obviously weirded out by her weirdness, but he didn't pull away for awhile.

"I've gotta get dressed," she said finally, not wanting to leave this moment, but also not wanting to endure their mother's wrath if they were late to breakfast.

Henry nodded fast, pulling away. "I'll meet you down there, then."

When he was gone, Emma sat back on her bed, a bit jarred by that experience. Her fingertips ran over her lips, and she mouthed the words. "I love you." Funny how that phrase, which had never held much meaning before except loneliness and jealousy, suddenly meant the world.

Emma smiled.

* * *

The tiny kingdom had been preparing for battle for weeks. The conditions of the forest were much different than they were used to - where the Forest and its surrounding lands had once been mild and quad-seasonal, the March weather was arid and sweltering by day, and damp and chilly by night. But the people marched on, creating armor and weapons and organizing supplies and rations. The Forest clean-up was nearly complete, but had been put on hold to get all hands on deck for the imminent uprising.

James, Arthur, Thomas, Frederick, Lancelot, and Mulan were in charge of setting up the Royal Guard and making sure that all of the troops were trained and battle-ready. Aurora, surprisingly enough, was pretty handy with needle and thread, and she was helping out Dorothy and the ladies' maids with uniform repairs and other clothing needs. As for the rest of the princesses, they were helping Granny and Red out with making sure the children were safe and the supplies and ammunition were stored safely and accessibly.

Snow used this as a last-ditch effort to put her children as far away from battle as possible. She tried to trick them into going with their friends, but Emma and Henry sooned cottoned on and broke away from the line. That's how they ended up in the dungeon.

"We can sneak out the back way and scale the turret," Emma suggested.

"Or we can sneak out the back and you can teleport us to our room," Henry said.

Emma grinned sheepishly. "Sometimes I forget."

Henry opened his mouth to retort, but then put a finger to his lips when he heard a familiar voice.

"I refuse to go with you, Mother."

"Regina, darling," Cora's sickeningly saccharine voice made Emma shiver. "You don't really have a choice. You can either come with me and survive, or you can stay with them and perish in this battle."

"What do you know about it?" Regina asked warily.

"Even if they defeat me, they will not let you live. They view you as they do me - an evil witch."

Henry saw red. He knew his mother was trying her best, and he was very proud of her for trying to give up magic for his benefit. He also knew that, though some members of their community held Regina in contempt for the awful lives they'd led for a over a decade, his and Emma's parents were making sure that Regina was forgiven, and that when this war was over, she was going to be integrated back into their society.

Emma felt her brother rise from his place beside her, and grabbed his shoulder firmly. She shook her head at him. _'__Not __now__,'_ she thought.

He pursed his lips in disapproval, but settled back all the same.

"They've kept me down here to protect me," Regina argued. "I am not like you anymore, Mother. I chose to stop using my magic for my son's sake. You would never choose to give up your power."

"Ah, my grandson," Cora interrupted, completely ignoring the rest of Regina's speech. "When will I get to meet him?"

"At the battle, I assume," Regina said tightly, her teeth clenched and jaw set.

"Oh, that's right. Your son is also a savior. The Golden Sun, isn't that right?"

"Yes."

"How fitting that power seems to run in our family."

"He is not like you, Mother." Regina's voice was harsh and guttural. Henry knew she was very angry. "Or even me. His magic is pure and good. His power is a birthright. Ours is a deal with the devil."

"Is that how you see me?" Cora's voice was still light, but both Henry and Emma could sense a dark undercurrent to it, now. "Daughter, I'm hurt. My magic was a gift."

"All magic comes with a price," Regina muttered.

Cora either didn't hear her or pretended not to. "I will not see you die, Regina. Tomorrow, we wage war, and you will be on _my_ side when we do."

Emma and Henry shared a disbelieving look, and coughed silently on the purple smoke wafting from around the corner where Cora had disappeared. Henry was the first to recover, and dashed around the side of the wall to his mother's cell.

"Are you alright?" He asked her breathlessly.

"Henry, what are you doing here? Have you been here all this time? What if she had discovered you?" Regina shot back, rapid-fire.

"Are you alright?" He asked again

Sighing, she nodded. "I'm fine, Henry. Where's your sister?"

"Right here," Emma said quietly, coming up behind her brother. "Hi, Madame Mayor."

Regina smiled uncomfortably. "I'm no longer the Mayor, Emma. Feel free to call me Regina."

Emma nodded. She shifted from foot to foot, wishing this whole interaction could be less awkward.

"You're sure you're okay?" Henry asked again, not knowing what else to say.

"Would you like to do something for me, Henry?" Regina countered, tiring quickly of this particular line of questioning. Henry nodded furiously. "Go tell your father what you heard my mother tell me, about the battle. You need to start setting your forces up. Emma," Regina shifted her gaze to the girl. "Could you get Merlin for me? I have something to discuss with him. Then go meet your brother upstairs."

Both kids went to do their assigned tasks, and Regina sat back on the bench in her cell. She spun the gold circle on its chain around her neck, pulling the metal strand out to her chin with her pointer fingers, and flipping the ring with her thumb. It soothed her. "Soon, Daniel," she whispered. "Soon, we'll be together once more."

* * *

"Are you nervous?" Emma asked her brother, her own stomach filled with giant butterflies.

"I think it's impossible not to be," he answered with a rueful grin.

They were walking towards their army, assembled at a base camp that was a safe enough distance from the castle so it would hopefully remain undamaged by the battle. Their horses were waiting for them, and all they had to do was mount them and ride.

They'd dressed in costumes made especially for them by Dorothy and Aurora. Emma's was dove gray wool riding leggings with black leather patches, a lovely ice blue linen tunic with silver embroidery on the neck and cuffs. She also wore a gray velvet sleeveless jerkin with matching silver embroidery, and her black leather riding boots with silver buckles.

Henry's was nearly identical, switching out ice blue for rusty orange, black for a rich, chestnut brown, gray for beige, and silver for gold. They also wore black and brown leather belts, respectively, with sword sheaths built-in, and special sun and moon medallions in silver and gold, respectively.

When they reached camp, Emma ran to Livvy and threw an arm around her neck. She couldn't nuzzle like usual because she was wearing special battle headgear, but she whinnied quietly in affection. Henry patted Sam's flank, and he chuffed happily.

"Your Highnesses," a guard, bedecked in emerald, attracted their attention as he bowed to them. "Gifts from the Princesses of Oz."

Emma took the fabric from his outstretched arms, marveling at the detail when she shook it out. It, in fact, turned out to be them - two cloaks, one for each Henry and Emma. And it was easy to tell which belonged to whom.

Emma's eyes grew wide as she fanned out her cloak. On the outside, it was covered in scalloped layers of white feathers. Each feather's tip was a sparkling silver, however, so when you turned it in the light, it glittered and shone. The inside was simple black velvet, and, as Emma discovered, when you put on the hood, a black velvet mask dropped down to disguise your face.

"You look like a real swan, Emma," Henry said when she turned to him for approval.

"Let's see yours, then!"

Henry flapped his in the wind. It was coated in soft tufts of gingery fur, the points of which shimmered a brassy gold. The inner layer was buttercream-colored velvet, and two ears poked up from the hood.

"You're a fox, Henry," Emma said, half-teasing and half-awed. "They got us both."

"So sorry to interrupt," the guard said, "but your people are assembling."

Emma and Henry each nodded, mounting their steeds gracefully and directing them to the head of the procession.

Liv and Sam seemed to know instinctively that the place to go was beside James and Snow, and settled into formation next to the twins' parents.

"You look lovely," James whispered to Emma.

Emma smiled up at her father, taking in his metal and velvet and wool appearance. "You too, Papa."

"I'm so proud of you," Snow murmured, reaching out to Henry.

Henry grinned, and gave her hand a squeeze. "Thanks, Mama."

"Are you ready?" James asked, directing his question to all three people around him.

"As I'll ever be," said Emma.

"Let's get this done," Snow affirmed.

"Yes!" Henry cheered.

"Forward!" James yelled. "For happy endings! For true love!"

Everything from that point on was a blur. Emma vaguely recalled zombies, ogres, and other assorted mythical beasties. Her quiver was empty, her sword was bloodied, and she was growing weak. But she hadn't seen Cora yet, and so she kept her guard up, fearing the worst.

Just as she was drawing back an arrow she'd conjured to kill an ogre, though, it vanished into thin air. Emma knew it hadn't been an illusion - she could see through those. But suddenly, Regina was pulling her off her horse, and dragging her behind a rock.

"Stay here," was the order.

"What about my horse?" Emma asked.

"She'll be fine. I've got to go find Henry - stay put!" Regina commanded again. Emma was so shocked and confused that she actually did as she was told.

Regina came back with Henry in a matter of minutes, but to Emma it felt like hours. She heard the sounds of fighting and destruction all around her, and it killed her not to become a part of the action. But she sat and waited, and Regina soon tugged Henry down beside her.

"It's time," Regina said quietly.

"Time for what?" Henry and Emma asked together.

"To defeat my mother, once and for all. Now, listen very carefully to me."

Regina explained to them that in order to fight Cora, they would have to completely empty their minds of anything other than that goal. It would take everything they had to channel their entire energy reserves into Regina and, using her power as one would a magnifying glass in the sun, fry Cora like an ant.

"Start your breathing, now!" Regina snapped. "We don't have much time!"

Emma and Henry began to clear their minds, filing away the clutter for another time and place.

_As Emma sank deeper into her literal personal space, it began to take on a shape. It was her bedroom in Storybrooke, but the room was a total disaster zone. Clothes and books were strewn everywhere, and it was stuffy and hot. Emma started by picking up all the clothes and shoes and putting them on her bed. Then, she shelved all the books. Noticing a few, she saw that they were labeled with different names and places she'd known or been in her life. Most were fairly small, like all of the people she'd met in foster care or all the different cities she'd "lived" in. But some were huge, like the ones for Storybrooke, and her parents, and Henry. She organized them by genre, and then alphabetically. Finishing that, she went into the wardrobe and put all the clothes away like Mary Margaret had taught her. She stacked all the shoes on the floor of the armoire, and then shut the door. But as she sat on her bed to relax, there was a new door - one Emma knew didn't exist in her old home, and didn't think she'd seen while she'd been inside her mind._

_Knocking on it softly, Emma opened it. But as she did so, she found that there was another door on the other side. She knocked on that, then. Then she knocked louder. Then, louder still. Finally, she heard the knob turn._

_"What's-Emma!" Henry exclaimed, shocked to see her._

_"Henry?" Emma asked._

_"What are you doing here?" They asked in unison._

_"This is my mind," Emma answered._

_"Mine, too. So...our minds are connected?"_

_Emma shrugged. "I guess so. You can read my mind, can't you?"_

_Henry nodded. "And you can transfer thoughts and things to me."_

Outside their heads, their hands linked, as if serving as a circuit connector for their energy. And as they did so, Regina slammed them back against the rock, covering their crouched forms with her own body.

As one, Emma and Henry's eyes snapped open. A rush of power pooled in their stomachs, and grew and grew as they held hands and stared at their enemy.

"Regina," Cora said, in a most unpleasantly-patronizing tone. "What are you hiding?"

Regina knew Cora could see the children, and so she also knew that she was being baited. "Let's not play games, Mother," she said (with more bravado than she felt).

"Fine!" Cora lifted Regina into the air, and tossed her away from the kids like a rag doll. "Let's get right down to it."

"No!" Regina shouted, trying to pick herself up and run back to the big rock. Cora threw a hand out to keep her immobile. "You will not touch my son!"

"Oh, I don't want to hurt them," Cora said. "I want to use them. They certainly are powerful, aren't they?" She murmured, caressing Emma's cheek and ruffling Henry's hair. "So powerful."

Emma and Henry gripped each other more tightly, and sent out a jolt of energy to push Cora backwards. Regina used the opportunity to get back in front of the twins. "Grab my hands," she hissed. "And hold on tight!"

Emma and Henry each slid their free hand into one of Regina's, completing the chain. A new surge of energy swelled in both kids, and Regina felt nearly drunk off the power they were sending to her veins.

"Think of the best things you can think of," Regina told them. "Good things. Only good things."

Closing their eyes again, Emma and Henry were sent back into their mind-rooms.

_"Good things," Emma muttered. "What are good things?"_

_"Ice cream? Puppies?" Henry suggested._

_"Sleeping in," Emma said. "Breakfast for dinner!"_

_But even then, they knew they weren't hitting the mark. The shiny feeling they'd had so strongly at first was fading, like the power of Peter Pan's fairy dust._

_"Birthday parties," Henry said. "Any parties!"_

_"Movies and take-out," Emma grinned. "Playing board games."_

_"Friends," Henry said suddenly. He looked at Emma. "You."_

_Emma's mouth dropped as her brother began to glow gold, from the inside out._

_"Our parents," she whispered. She felt light as air, and her hands sparkled silver. "Henry, I-" She took a deep breath. She didn't want to doubt herself when she said this. "I love you."_

_"I love you too, sis."_

Regina had tingled, before, but now, she was literally vibrating with energy. Cora laid before her, frozen with magic and fear. Her eyes, pupils dilated, had changed from brown to bronze, and her hands were numb from two tight grips. She felt dizzy and clear-headed all at once, and stayed her feet as she summoned her own magic for the first time in a decade.

It happened too fast for her to comprehend. One minute, she was standing before her mother, finally having enough power to beat her for good. The next, she was on the ground, blinded by the light filling the sky.

* * *

"Charming, what is that?" Snow asked her husband.

The battle had been won. All of Cora's forces had been defeated, and the monarchs of the Enchanted Forest were circling the field, searching for their children. But suddenly, an iridescent geyser of light poured from the center of the field, shrouding the sky in a dome of metallic wisps.

"I don't know, Snow," James answered.

They rode towards it, weapons drawn, but when they came within fifty yards, they were unable to go any further. It was as if there was an invisible barrier blocking entry. When Snow tried to shoot off an arrow, it disintegrated as it hit the magical shell. They tried to see what was going on, but everything was cloudy and misty and obscured.

Then, all movement stopped. The light grew so bright that everyone on the field had to cover their eyes. There was a complete silence, and then there was a loud, screeching wail that permeated the entire stretch of land. Snow and James, being the closest, had to cover their ears, but they could still hear the noise plainly.

Because everyone's eyes were closed, they failed to see the miraculous occurrences taking place. The ground, formerly barren and brown, was now lush and green. The air became crisper and cleaner, and the color from both flora and fauna returned to the area.

The ground began to shake, the pitch of the noise growing higher and higher, and the horses spooked and bucked, tossing Snow and James to the ground.

"Snow!" James yelled, army-crawling across the pasture to his wife.

"I'm here, James," she said. "I'm okay."

He rolled her into his side, and she cradled his face in her hand as they rode out the quake.

The noise stopped, after a harrowing minute and a half, and all was quiet and still. Slowly and cautiously, the couple stood, trying to see what had happened.

"Mom?" A childish, frightened voice yelled.

"That's Henry," Snow whispered excitedly.

Not waiting for his wife, James ran towards the sound. Snow chased after him, and stopped for a beat to catch her breath when she caught up.

"Charming," she panted. Then she took in the scene. Henry, on his knees, sobbing over a fallen figure - his mother, Snow noted in devastation. Emma, pale and open-mouthed, standing beside him. Regina, unmoving, on the ground. "What happened?"

"She's dead," Emma said, her voice thin and shaky. "Cora's dead."

* * *

**END ****OF ****PART ****ONE**


	12. 10b - Hard Way Home

this chapter is pitiful, and pitifully short, but i couldn't draw it out more than i already had. angst is not my forte, and death can only be done so delicately. anyway, i hope you enjoy (or, at least, don't hate it), and i will have the epilogue up as soon as i can. that will basically just be fluff, so i hope you like it.

happy once night! i hope you all enjoyed the return as much as i did :)

* * *

"What?" James asked, his mouth dropping open. "But...where is Merlin?"

"We...switched," a small voice croaked from below.

"Mom!" Henry gasped, reaching out tentatively to touch his adoptive mother's cheek.

"I...had to...save Henry." Regina breathed heavily, and her voice was frail. "His life...is worth more."

"But you're gonna be okay," Henry insisted. Then he looked up at his biological parents, eyes wide with fear. "She's gonna be okay." His words belied the uncertainty in his voice.

"Henry..." Regina whispered.

"Yeah?" Henry asked, when she didn't continue.

"Henry. I'm...dying," Regina murmured, normally-threatening dark eyes made tender with tears.

"No! No, you can't!" He cried, looking once more to his family to intervene.

"Isn't there something we can do?" Emma asked softly, uncomfortable with seeing her brother in so much pain.

"I'm a healer!" Henry said, as if just remembering. "I can fix you!"

But when he tried to summon up that magic feeling within him, he gasped in pain as if he'd been shocked in the stomach.

"Too...much," Regina said. "Too soon."

"I can't use magic anymore?" Henry asked, about to cry.

"Not...yet."

Snow and James were standing off to the side, not sure what they could do to help. Then, Snow had an idea.

"Charming," she whispered. "Let's go get some blankets or capes or something. She should be comfortable."

James would've disagreed about helping Regina on any other occasion, but in the light of his son's turmoil, he couldn't find it in himself to feel malicious.

Instead, he merely nodded, and went to relieve some horses of their blankets while Snow went to ask cloaks from overheated warriors.

They came back with a rather sizeable pile of fabric each, but while they were gone, Regina had gotten worse. Snow went to work packing rolled-up cloaks around Regina's neck and lower back, while James created a patchwork of blankets over her to keep her warm.

"Henry," Regina rasped. Snow looked at her son, and realized he was trying desperately not to cry. Her heart broke at his pale cheeks, red eyes, and tight expression. But he leaned down to meet Regina's eyes. "I...am so sorry."

Henry's eyebrows met in the middle of his forehead. "For what?"

"For...everything. Separating...you and Emma...making you...feel so sad."

"It's okay, Mom. I forgive you." Henry said quickly.

"Tell...your mother..." Regina choked on the word, and Henry winced. "I'm sorry."

Henry looked up at Snow, then, and Snow gave him a nod. His faint, almost-disbelieving smile panged in her already-hurt heart.

"I'm sorry, too," Henry said. "For...hating you."

"You should," Regina answered, with a cough that almost sounded like a chuckle. "You...were right."

"But you're my _mom_," Henry said, stressing the word.

"I...love you," Regina murmured, closing her eyes. "Henry."

Regina squeezed his hand at her side tightly, and then let it go. She drew in a last, shaky breath, and then she was gone.

* * *

Henry sobbed unabashedly and uncontrollably. Emma still stood behind him, and their parents stood opposite. James left Snow's embrace for a minute to pull Emma over beside them. He wedged her in between Snow's hip and his, and they stood together, not knowing what to do for their boy.

Eventually, various groups of the non-wounded came around to collect the casualties. Henry refused to budge from Regina's side, and against their gut instincts, his parents allowed him to ride with his mother back to the castle grounds. Snow and Emma switched off bringing him meals, but he remained with her for the two days leading up to the burial and service. He never spoke, though Snow tried to engage him every time she went down to Regina's chamber. Emma had tried a few times, but had since given up. But though he never talked, or acknowledged their presence, every plate came back empty, which granted a little peace of mind.

Still, Snow and James were getting restless with worry. Every second Henry spent apart from them seemed like forever, and they were concerned for his health. Emma tried to console them as best she could, but no matter what she did, they only seemed better for a moment. That, in turn, left Emma feeling useless and second-best, though she tried to contain her frustration.

On the morning of the funeral, Emma brought him the outfit that had been prepared - a navy tunic, forest green tights, his belt, his boots, and a dark maroon cloak. She placed the pile beside him and went back to the door, but paused.

"Henry, I..." She bit her lip, not knowing how to say what she felt. "I know you miss your mom, but I think...I think she wanted you to be with us. I think you should talk to Mama...she wants to help you, to make this better, and...you're just sitting down here, not talking, and-" Emma took a breath, letting it out slowly to quell some of her anger. She didn't want to yell at Henry - at least, not when she didn't think he'd fight back. "Anyway, I hope you'll come back to our room after...today. I miss having you close by...it's nice to wake up from a nightmare, and have you there with me."

Emma turned her back, prepared to leave, but a small voice stopped her. "Thanks," Henry said quietly. "For the clothes.

Not turning around, she answered, "You're welcome." Then she left, and shut the door behind her.

The next time she saw her brother was when they were sitting for the service. Snow had gone to fetch him earlier, so he wouldn't see Regina being fixed up and entombed. But still, he'd wanted to sit down there until it was time to go outside. Snow understood, having gone through this with her own parents. He wasn't in the mood to see anyone he didn't have to see.

The entire family was somber. Emma didn't even complain about having to wear a dress. Hers was simply cut navy silk, with a bodice of floral damask and short, slightly puffed sleeves embellished with forest green jacquard ribbon. A soft length of skinny burgundy velvet kept Emma's curls off her face, and Snow swallowed a lump at the fact that they looked so alike.

It was a melancholy processional that played as the knights and soldiers marched into the arena. The fiddles were mellow, the woodwinds tame - even the brass sounded deeper and sadder than usual. The men had already been buried, as was tradition, so the only casket left was Regina's. As Snow's father Leopold's had been, it was black and ornate, and decorated with roses. James wrapped his arms around the shoulders of his children as Snow made her way to the front of the crowd.

"Friends, it has not been an easy journey. There have been trials for each of us, and we have all lost things we've loved. But we are together again, and evil has finally been defeated. And it is this woman who was, in part, responsible for that."

She looked up, met the warm eyes of her husband, and gazed bittersweetly at the hung heads of his children.

"I know many of you have blamed Regina for the hardships you've suffered over the past ten years. Even before then, Regina ruled this world with a cold and powerful hand. But the Regina I know is not so different than you and I. She was just a girl, hurt and mislead, when the true enemy - Cora - ripped out the heart of her love. She blamed me, then but a child, for her misfortune. She wanted me dead, and almost got her wish more than once. Her means were ill-informed, but we are none of us so innocent and free from blames to turn our noses up in antipathy. Regina wanted to be better for her son - for my son."

"And so she tried. I let her try, too - I gave her more than one chance to prove herself worthy, because that's what I would want if it were me. She tried and she succeeded and no matter your personal grievances, she died a hero. I lost more than most. I lost my childhood; my innocence. I lost my father. I lost my two, helpless, newborn children. But I have found it in myself to forgive Regina for what she did to us, because what she has done _for_ us means so much more."

Snow stepped off of the raised platform and made her way back to her family. James stood to give Snow his seat, and then he knelt in front of Henry, placing a hand on his knee.

"Henry," he whispered, his voice barely more than a breath. "Would you like to say something?"

Henry shook his head, almost imperceptibly, and James sighed as he stood. But Emma stood, too.

"Wait, Papa," she said. "I have something I want to say."

Snow and James shared a look, and Emma waited uncomfortably as they seemed to debate the merits of Emma speaking. Finally, James turned back to her and inclined his head to the right. "Okay, Emma," he said quietly.

Slowly, she made her way to the podium, head high and shoulders back. She smoothed imaginary wrinkles in her dress, and inhaled shakily.

"I've never really been to a funeral," she began quietly. "But we're not normal, so I guess it's okay if this isn't, either. What I'm trying to say is..." she bit her lip, cursing quietly under her breath. "There's a song. I don't know how I know it, or why, but it came into my head a few days ago and I can't seem to get it out. So, um. Anyway, maybe some of you know this from...well, the old world, I guess. And this is for my brother."

Emma took in a breath, steadying herself against the wooden railing. "Them that's got shall have, them that's not shall lose. So the bible says, and it still is news..." Emma looked at her parents, sitting close to each other both for warmth and for comfort. "Mama may have. Papa may have. But God bless the child that's got his own...that's got his own."

Snow raised her eyes to look at Emma when she heard the first few crystal-clear notes. It took her breath away. James hugged his son a little closer and let the slightly-haunting melody carry his mind from the dark to the light.

The entire community was silent as Emma finished the song, and, with flushed cheeks, she hurried off of the platform and back into her parents' arms.

Snow placed a tender kiss on her temple. "That was lovely, Emma," she murmured.

"Thanks," Emma replied embarrassedly. "I don't normally sing in front of people."

"I know," Snow said with a laugh. "I've heard you in the shower a few times."

The blush on Emma's face deepened and spread.

Blue led a prayer, because there was no one else willing or able, and then it was time for the burial. James headed the pallbearers, and Snow held each of her children's hands as they followed the path.

It was a short walk, and a short event, all things considered. One by one, the subjects paid their condolences to Henry, by way of his parents, and then there were four.

The sun was nearly setting on the blustery March day. The King and Queen stood before the freshly-turned earth, their hands on the shoulders of a child in front of them. Henry hadn't said much of anything that day, but he turned to his sister with his eyes finally off the ground.

"Thank you for today, Emma," he said quietly.

She shrugged. "It's okay."

He nodded, nestling back into Snow's warm embrace. Snow wrapped her arms more tightly around her son, and kissed the top of his head.

As they watched the sun fade behind the trees, Snow felt a surge of thankfulness towards Regina. She looked down at the rumpled head against her chest, and smiled proudly.

'_You__'__re __mine__,'_ she thought.

Henry looked up, eyes red, but not heavy. "I know, Mama. And you're mine."

Snow felt her eyes pinch and blur with tears. "That's right, sweetheart. I'm yours. And we're gonna be okay," she said, as if in amazement. "We're gonna be okay now."

James pulled one arm off Emma and wrapped it around his wife, pulling her in for a side hug. Snow hugged back, causing their kids to be squished together like a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

"I know we are," said Henry. "We've got each other."

"And that's all we needed," Emma added shyly. "Family."


	13. Epilogue

oh, friends. i am so sorry it has taken this long to finish this story. i was suffering from a terrible case of writer's block, and some other things were happening in my world which made it nearly impossible to focus. i hope you all have enjoyed this story as much as i have, and i am so thankful to each and every one of you for your love and support. a special thanks to my anon/guest reviewers, with whom i never got a chance to speak, but whose reviews i always appreciated. as sad as i am to let this story go, i have already concocted another au once upon a time story featuring the charmma (that's charming/emma, don't you know) relationship and based on the movie "flicka." but i digress. enjoy this, and i'll see y'all around! xoxo!

* * *

"Princess, how would you like your hair?" Emma's ladies' maid, a girl (not much older than she) named Lily, flitted about Emma's chambers with hands full of beautifying products. This was their first ball together, and Emma softened to think that Lily just wanted to do a good job.

"How do you think it would look best?" She asked, turning away from the mirror and smiling at the teen.

Lily froze, cheeks pink with shock. Her mouth dropped open slightly, and Emma bit her lip to keep from giggling. When there were no words after a long while, Emma lightly cleared her throat.

Lily went pinker, and quickly bobbed a curtsey. "'Scuse me, Your Majesty," she apologized. Emma shook her head, as if to say 'don't worry about it.' "As to your question, well..." She scrunched her nose slightly. "My mother used to do a style for my sisters and me for fancy occasions. It was up, with criss-crossing braids like a wrap across the top of the head," she tried to explain.

"It sounds beautiful," Emma assured her. "Would you do it for me?"

Lily smiled, then, a broad, toothy grin. "Of course!"

Emma smoothed out the seat of her dress as she resumed her spot at the dressing table. With fast and deft hands, Lily swooped Emma's curls off the nape of her neck and parted them in two, plaiting each side loosely. She crossed them, one before the other, on the flat of Emma's skull, fluffing the little wispies that had escaped and pinning the ends of the braids behind Emma's ears.

Lily then tucked the simple silver circle that was Emma's crown into the empty space left by the second braid. It sat perched atop the back of her head, held in place by Emma's thick locks, and peeked out from behind her plaits. Emma and Henry had collaborated on the design of their crowns, and turned out two opposite but similar headpieces for themselves. Emma's was silver in color, though what exact metal it was constructed from she didn't know, and it was pieced together from many hammered crescent moons, turned on their rounded edge, and welded seamlessly together at the tips. Tucked into her hair as it was, it looked rather like Henry's crown, but when it acted as a circlet when her hair was loose, one could easily see the scalloped bottom.

Henry's was, as to be expected, of a gold metal. Instead of moons, his crown was composed of triangles, or "sun spikes," fused together to create a straight edge around the bottom of the wreath, as the spikes then broke away from each other and grew into points.

Emma stood once more, pleased with her hair, and wrapped Lily in a light hug. "Thank you," she said warmly.

Lily blushed again, and stammered out, "You-you're welcome, Your Princess." She shook her head, embarrassed by the slip-up, and corrected, "I mean, Your Highness."

Emma smiled slightly. "It's alright, Lily. Anyway, you're off for the night. You can call me Emma, if you like."

"O-okay," Lily stuttered. "Emma."

"Now, don't you have to go get ready yourself? I'm sure all your friends are looking forward to the festivities."

Emma frowned when Lily looked at her shoes. "I don't really have too many friends here, yet. I'm a bit clumsy, you see, and I don't yet know my way around too well. The other girls sorta...well, make fun of me, a bit."

Emma crossed her arms. She knew exactly what Lily was talking about, having had it happen to her too many times to count. "Well, you helped me get ready, so it seems only fair that I help you! What were you planning on wearing?"

Lily didn't meet Emma's gaze. "I only have my church dress, and that's in the wash from yesterday," she mumbled.

Emma sized her up for a moment, then, and snapped her fingers. Lily jumped, and Emma couldn't help a small chuckle escaping. "Sorry," Emma apologized sincerely. "I think I know the perfect thing."

She went to her wardrobe, rifling through the racks for a moment, before tugging out a tawny-tinted dress that she'd only worn once...something about it being a mistake (Henry had gotten a mysteriously light blue tunic around the same time). The Samhain masquerade was the next week, but tonight was a huge celebration to honor the Saviors' 16th birthdays and coronation. Everyone in the kingdom, and all six allied kingdoms as well, was invited to join in the festivities. Of course, not everyone could fit in the castle, so those with invitations (and the palace staff) were welcome at the banquet and dancing, while the others watched the crowning ceremony and fireworks display from outside.

Emma messed around in her trunk for some baubles that would go, finally landing on a sapphire pendant and matching pins for her hair. She sent Lily behind her dressing screen and, when the girl came back, fitted her with the necklace and simply swept her hair up off her neck, securing it with the pins.

Lily had other chores to do before the event, so Emma waved her off and went back to her mirror. Emma's own dress was pearly and smooth, like the moon on a clear night. Tea-stained lace crept up the fitted bodice, ending in a scalloped boatneck. Her swan charm rested warmly against her clavicle, and the corseted bodice flared out into a full, taffeta-like skirt, with gentle gathering at the seam. The long sleeves molded around her toned arms, and her skin looked even paler against the creamy shimmer of the dress fabric. Each flower of the lacework was embellished with a pearl in the center, where the stigma would be.

Emma sighed as she looked into her reflection. She still felt like an awkward, silly little girl, even though she was technically thirty-four years old. It had been nearly six years since her family had been returned to her - since she had returned to her family - and since they had come home. Funny, how thinking of the Forest as home didn't seem nearly as laughable now as it had then. She had friends, for once - Henry, of course, though they still fought (as siblings do), but also the the kids they went to school with in Storybrooke, and all the people who helped her and Henry defeat Cora. She finally had a purpose, and a reason to be happy. She had the one thing she'd always wanted.

But old habits die hard, and Emma still saw herself sometimes (especially in moments like these, when everyone expected her to be something she wasn't sure she knew how to be) as the knobbly-kneed fourth grader who'd come to live with her teacher in a town that might have been only a dream. So the teenager fussed with her tiara and worried the claddagh that encircled her right middle finger.

She gasped at a soft knock on her door. "Yes?" She asked, cursing the waver in her voice.

"Emma?" Her father's voice wrapped around her tense shoulders like a blanket.

"Papa," Emma sighed. "Come in."

He did so, and Emma saw his boots enter into her silvered image. She met his eyes in the frame.

"What do you think?" She asked, biting her bottom lip and rocking it between her teeth.

"Oh, Emma," James breathed, spinning her around to face him. "Baby, you look like a queen."

Emma's nostrils flared, and she could see the beginnings of tears in his crystal eyes. Though her own eyes stung, she cracked a teasing smirk. "Papa, don't _cry_," she mocked, but the bite of her words was lost when her voice broke.

He smiled so genuinely, Emma felt her heart might burst. His calloused yet oh-so tender hand came up to cup her cheek, and Emma suddenly felt her face pressed up against fuzzy cobalt velvet.

"My sweet girl," he whispered, pulling back to hold her chin in both hands. "Your mother and I are so proud of you."

Emma dropped his gaze. "I know."

"Hey," he said. "Hey, look at me."

Emma tore her eyes off the stone pavers and lifted her eyes once more.

"Nothing you have ever done or ever will do will keep us from being proud of the woman you've become. You are brilliant, and beautiful, and clever, and kind...Emma, what more could a parent wish for? And we have not one, but _two_, amazing children to pass our kingdom on to. What could be more wonderful than that?"

"What if I mess up?" Emma asked softly, hardly daring to say the say the words that had haunted her forever.

"Everybody makes mistakes," James answered easily, but seriously. "But that does not make _you_ a mistake."

Emma said nothing, so James pressed on.

"Do you understand me?"

At that, Emma couldn't help her grin. "Yes, Father."

James chuckled. "Good, Daughter."

"Where's Mama?" Emma asked.

"Helping your brother."

Emma cocked her head. "With what?"

James tried to keep a straight face. "He's been testing a new sweet waters formula," he choked out.

Emma dissolved into giggles. "For Grace?"

James nodded.

"Oh gods," Emma wheezed. "We're going to need to fumigate the palace."

At that, James lost it, and the two of them collapsed into each other as they laughed.

"Charming? Are you in there?" Snow's voice traveled through the door, but it only caused father and daughter to laugh harder. She asked again, but finally gave up and just came in. "There you are!" She said. Then she took a better look at the two, and put her hands on her hips. "What is so funny?"

Sharing a look, Emma clutched James' arm as she bent over once more, unable to form words due to lack of oxygen. James shook his head, coughing once to enable a "Nothing" to fall from his lips.

"Oh, really?" Snow asked, eyebrow raised.

Emma shook her head, calming down, but still a bit tickled by the idea that her brother was making a new fragrance to attract his long-time crush.

"Charming?" Snow tried, knowing her daughter wouldn't breathe a word.

"Just...caught a whiff of a good joke," James quipped, which had Emma in stitches again.

"A...King James, I never!" Snow scolded. "Teasing your own son, and getting his sister in on it!"

Emma snorted, and James nudged her in the side. She jabbed him back, and he started tickling her. All the while, Snow was pacing and berating them for being mean about Henry.

Snow turned around at the sound of shrieks. She rolled her eyes at the sight of her husband in a headlock by her daughter, and her daughter laughing at the tickling brought on by her father. "The two of you, I swear," she muttered. "Peas in a pod." But, afraid of Emma's hair or gown or make-up being ruined, she clapped her hands as if they were two rowdy students back in Storybrooke. "Alright, that's enough!"

James immediately let go of Emma, and Emma reluctantly released her hold on her dad.

Snow smirked. "That's better." Then she took a good look at her daughter, and her smirk changed to a full-on beam. "Oh, Emma," she breathed, unconsciously echoing her husband's earlier words. "You look so beautiful."

"Thank you," Emma answered, her shyness returning in the face of such attention.

Snow smiled warmly, tears in her green eyes as she ran a gloved palm lightly along her daughter's cheek. "You're getting to be so grown up," she whispered.

Emma leaned into the caress, welcoming the feel of cool silk on her hot cheek. "Not _so_ grown up," she retorted.

Snow laughed. "If your tussles with your father are any indication, I suppose you're right."

James stepped up behind Emma and gently rubbed her shoulders. He and Snow shared a look, and Emma immediately stood at attention.

"What's happening?"

"Nothing, sweetheart," Snow assured, patting Emma's cheek gently. "But it is nearing time to make our entrance. Now-"

Emma rolled her eyes. "I _know_. You and Papa will go down, make the rounds, and then the horns will announce when it's time for Henry and me to arrive."

Snow sighed, a small smirk worming its way onto her face. "Very well, Princess," she teased. "See to it that your brother knows this as well, alright?"

She placed a kiss on Emma's forehead and offered her arm to James. "Shall we, Charming?" She asked.

James nodded, kissing Emma's cheek. "We'll see you down there, Em," he said, giving her an encouraging grin. She smiled back bravely, and watched as they left her room.

"Ugh," she groaned. "You can do this, Swan. You can do it."

She left her room, then, walking across the hall to her brother's chamber. "Oh, geez," she muttered, already smelling the incredibly strong perfumes emanating from Henry's chambers. "Henry?" She called, knocking on his door. "Henry!"

"Yeah?" He asked, swinging the door wide. His face was flushed, and his floppy hair was mussed. "What?"

"First of all, are you even ready?" Emma asked skeptically, pushing past him into his room. "Second, how much of this stuff did you use?"

"It's not _stuff_, it's cologne," Henry griped. "And I've still got time."

"Mama and Papa have gone down already," Emma sighed with another roll of her eyes. "We have to be ready at a moment's notice."

Henry's eyes widened, and he blew past her as he ran for his comb and wash basin. "Why didn't anyone tell me?"

Emma shrugged. "Maybe they did, and you didn't listen."

Henry glared at her, and she smirked. As her brother scrubbed his face, Emma examined him from her relaxed slump against the wall. He wore tan stockings tucked into his well-loved leather boots, a full-sleeved silk undershirt in the palest gold, and a cream suede cutaway tunic with gold cording and the family crest embroidered abstractly in gold thread.

As he tugged frustrated fingers through his thick, messy locks, Emma heard the faint sound of trumpeting. She dashed into the corridor, and came back with her face pale.

"Henry, we have to go," she hissed.

"But I'm not-" Henry protested, but Emma dragged his arm and sprinted down the hall. When they reached the top of the staircase, Emma let go of him, and tried to catch her breath. Henry offered Emma his arm, and as she reached up to take it, she stepped forward without looking at the position of her feet. Her heel caught on the last bit of the top step, and Emma stumbled. Unfortunately, the stairs were not particularly deep, and losing her footing on the top one caused her to slip forward and slide headlong down the majority of the first set. At the landing, she finally stopped, sprawled in a heap of satin and skinned knees.

"Emma!" Snow shouted, rushing up to her daughter. Emma burst out laughing, slowly standing up and brushing herself up. Henry had, by this point, made his way to where Emma was, and found her laughter contagious. James also saw the humor, and laughed with his children, and once Snow was assured that there were no broken bones, only bruised behinds and scraped egos, she cracked a grin and let loose a giggle or two. And then, all together, the four of them made their way down to the ball.

Though the King and Queen had already greeted many of their guests, it was the duty of the future rulers to do the same. Courteously, but as expediently as possible, Henry and Emma bid hello and welcome to the members of the royal court. Once the hands were shaken and curtseys were bobbed, Emma and Henry made their ways back to their parents to await further instruction. It was at this point that a servant made his way to Snow to inform her that the meal was ready.

Snow cleared her throat, and everyone seemed to silence at once. Emma shared a wary look with her brother, as if to say "how does she _do_ that?"

"Honored guests," Snow began. "You have all journeyed from near and far to be with us this most auspicious eve, and I am sure you must be hungry from your travels. We invite you now to be seated at our table, and join in the fruits of our bountiful harvest, in honor of my children, Emma and Henry."

There was applause, and Emma's cheeks flushed pink.

"How come she always gets said first?" Henry groused.

"Because she's older," Snow said softly. "She was born 'neath the setting moon. You were born minutes later, as the sun rose."

Emma stuck out her tongue at Henry childishly, and Snow swatted her. "Play nice," she warned. Emma grinned disarmingly, and Snow rolled her eyes.

Everyone gathered around the large wooden banquet table, and trays and dishes of delicious, steaming food began streaming out of the kitchen. Emma found herself next to Red and Pinocchio, both of whom she'd found that she could hold real conversations with and not feel judged or uncomfortable. Red, in fact, was her godmother, and Emma had been told that her godfather was no longer alive. Henry's godparents were Abigail and Frederick, and Emma saw them fawning over Henry just as he was fawning over their little boy, Adrian, who was five now, and their baby girl Frances, who had just turned two.

Emma also noted that Grace, who'd been seated on Henry's other side (Frederick sat next to him, and Abigail and the children sat across), was snuggling closer to him as the meal wore on. She smiled softly, and immersed herself back into the lively dwarf debate about the difference between a pickaxe and a mattock.

* * *

All too soon, at least for Emma's liking, supper was over. She and Henry were whisked away to a separate antechamber, where Merlin carefully completed the cleansing rituals necessary in their culture. He bathed their hands in a delicate china basin, pouring small rivulets of water from Lake Nostos over their outstretched arms. Then, taking a swath of flannel, he soaked the cloth in the pitcher and wiped their faces clean.

He mumbled a low prayer, and a watery blue light spread out from his fingertips. He drew a rose on each of their foreheads, and then led them back out to their parents and their populous.

All Emma could hear was the increasingly erratic thump of her heart. It grew louder as she felt thousands of pairs of eyes watching her every move, and as Merlin spoke, her mind drifted off in an attempt to shake the terribly uncomfortable paranoia.

"Emma," Henry hissed, jabbing her sharply with his elbow.

"What?"

"Merlin spoke your name!"

Emma flushed, rising quickly to stand by her mentor. He smiled gently, and touched a hand to her shoulder.

"Relax, child," he whispered, his dark eyes glowing with mirth and affection. Emma felt a sense of calm flood through her veins, and though she knew it was magic, she couldn't help but feel grateful to Merlin for putting her at ease.

She took a deep breath, and raised her face to gaze into his. He nodded, once, and began.

"Do you, Princess Emma, daughter of Snow White and James the Charming, vow to uphold the code of the Seven Kingdoms? Do you promise to be magnanimous in the face of adversity; protect your people above yourself; be loyal, strong, brave, and true? Will you serve the Enchanted Forest as a just and courageous Queen?"

Emma swallowed, but nodded firmly. "I will."

Merlin beamed with pride. Seemingly from thin air, he produced a cape of ice blue panne velvet, with silver crescents and silver cord edging and Emma's silver moon medallion acting as a clasp. He bowed slightly before he slipped it around Emma's shoulders and secured it at her neck. He then handed her a scepter - a simple silver stick topped with a jaunty moon - and led her to stand before her throne.

"I present to you Emma the Pure, Queen of the Moon."

Emma's ceremony finished with thunderous applause, and Emma couldn't help but find herself a bit undeserving of the praise. After all, she'd only really done the one good thing, and that was years past.

But she listened proudly and attentively as her brother was inaugurated onto the throne, and beamed and cheered with the crowd as he was named Henry the Wise, King of the Sun.

* * *

After the fireworks, there was more dancing in the palace as the onlookers went home. The remaining guests were rowdier; giddy from libations and festivities alike. Soon, the music took a turn from slow and melodic to fast-paced and peppy, and everyone in the ballroom seemed to laugh at the familiar tune.

Emma and Henry had been taught many of the traditional dances by their parents, but their school friends had taught them some folk games as well. This was one such song-and-dance, and everyone rushed to grab partners and form two facing lines.

Grace swooped in to grab Henry, and Emma stood awkwardly to the side until Pinocchio offered her his hand.

"Your Majesty," he murmured. "Would you care to dance?" The twinkle in his blue eyes convinced Emma that his intentions were merely friendly, and so she accepted with a small curtsey and a smile.

They took their place at the end of the lines, and the fiddlers began their upbeat rhythm. Everyone sang as Henry and Grace, at the head of the lines, clasped hands and sashayed up and down the ranks.

By the time the dance reached Emma and Pinocchio, the crowd was giggling and joking and having a grand time. Grumpy and Nova had gone, as had Ozma and Dorothy, and Ava and Nicholas - even Lily and a kitchen boy Emma thought was called Quintus - and all the other pairs in the kingdom, it seemed. Pinocchio bowed, Emma curtseyed, and they pointed their toes to go up and down the merry row.

"Look at them, Charming," Snow murmured, reclining on her throne and resting her hand upon her husband's. They'd been watching Henry and Emma dance and laugh with their friends and subjects, and Snow in particular was feeling emotional. "They're so poised; so mature. They've grown so fast."

"And soon they will take our places as King and Queen."

Snow looked over at her husband. "Are you not pleased?"

James sighed. "No, of course I am, Snow, it's just that...it seems as though we haven't had the time we deserved here. The four of us - our children have not been children so long, have they?"

Snow frowned, thinking of all the time they'd lost. "It's been a hard way home, my love."

Flipping his hand over so that it cradled hers, James brought their clasped appendages to his lips and pecked the back of her hand. "Yes," he agreed, a small smile curling his lips. "But we're here now, aren't we?"

**FIN**


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